Project: Heaven's Gate
by Wired Dragoon
Summary: - non-Ta'uri-centric - On the planet Maquinna, the Republic of Raeva discovers an ancient artifact, a piece of technology opening a path to distant planets - an artifact, that may well turn a Cold War into nuclear armageddon.
1. Prologue

This is my first try at writing anything Stargate related, and I am not certain where it will take me. But as you can see, I have taken a different approach then writing the upteemth story about SG-1 and the Ta'uri. If the story is met with interest and continues, I will add a glossary for alien names and places.

**Prologue**

Constable Tarvon Comalla placed the telephone reciever back on the telephone and slumped back into the high Ruufa leather armchair of his office. Telephone calls like this were nothing special, especially not during these turbulent times, but he had hoped he could spend more of his scarce time with his family this week. Well, he would have to manage, as he had always done.

Outside, the third change of the guard was underway, that was, at least for the security forces of the base. The air crews would change guard at different intervalls. Too great was the risk that an enemy would use a complete change of guards as a staging point for a surprise attack, and in the age of atomics that was a risk nobody wanted to take. In the distance, far behind the administrative buildings, barracks and bunkers of the central complex of the base he could see the runways, hangars and radar dishes.  
A wing of bombers was just making its way to the runways, one of six of the base, the huge silver tail fins marking the machines as the older, six propellor-driven strategic bombers. They were slowly being phased out of service and replaced by the newer, jet powered ones. Too slowly for most in the military, especially after the Appox Shock, and too fast for most of the _New Way_.

Surya was already sinking lower towards the horizon, it's deep orange glow sending late summer warmth through the closed windows of his office. He watched his own reflection in the glass. Tall, muscular, with distinctive cheek bones, grey hair and grey eyes and the pale skin typical of most Kallarans. But it was days like this that he felt his age of being in his late forties. Tarvon Comalla was a veteran of the last war, the Great War that had ravaged Maquinna twentyfive years ago, and he had been a soldier for all his adult life.

His view fell on the map that covered most of the northern wall of his office. It was a world map, as detailed as there ever had been one, immaculate in its depiction of oceans, continents, mountains, forest and the political entities that claimed ownership of most of what was shown - and more.  
The northeast of the map was covered by the continent of Kallar, a large and temperate landmass divided by long rivers, half a dozen mountain ranges and fertile plains accompanied by coastal island chains that were all ruled by Raeva, the nation he had served for the past twenty five years and still did serve today. Many hundred miles to its south lay Lythragon and Kyce, nations ruling over large islands (or small continents, as they preferred to call it) of their own.  
In the southwest, there was the _Cooperative_. The main part of Riveca, the continent reigned by the _Cooperative_'s, was south of the aequatorial area, with large parts of it in regions as temperate as those of Raeva. Only towards the east did the land make a bent swerve to the northeast, getting gradually thinner and less mountaineous until it was almost reaching into the polar regions. And on the map its furthest point was no more than a spitting distance away from Raeva's western coast. The Gap of Mundaneere it was called, after the part of the Rivecan continent north of the aequator.

In between the two of them lay Niemas. The long, serpent-shaped continent was a thin landmass with a two thousand mile long mountain grate at its center. Around it, literally thousands of islands and archipelagos of every size and geographic make-up huddled, making it look like a much bigger land mass from afar.  
Niemas was the birthplace of civilization. Some of its cities could trace back their history more than threethousand years, and all other peoples could trace their origin to Niemas at one point or another in their histories. It had been there that many of the first great discoveries had been made, and where the arts and crafts had first flourished. But its cities had never achieved the degree of unity that Raeva, the Cooperative or the smaller nations of Lythragon, Kyce or Troaves had reached. The loose confederation of ever squabbling city states had been desired by many a conqueror, actually conquered by only a few, and kept by none of them. The oligarchic cliques that ruled the individual cities where a lot better at economics than at politics, a dysfunctionaility that had not changed greatly over the centuries. As a result, many of the cities individually did fine on the economic front most the time, with those who failed to do so coming under the influence of one of its more successful neighbours, but the lack of political clout seriously and inter-neighboiur rivalries seriously limited the effect of their solid economies, and usually ended it with the coming of the next war. It was a small miracle largely owed to their industrious and ressourceful people that the continent and its many arichepelagos and islands had not fallen into complete poverty.

There was an old proverb that said that Niemas had a bean-counter's fortune for getting wealthy, and a squanderer's hand in keeping said wealth. And nowadays it were the _Cooperative_ and his own nation, Raeva, that were vying for Niemas' wealth: for ressources, markets, port rights.

The map on his office wall was a lot more detailed than any civilian map that was available to the public. The features were more topographically exact, and there was a lot more information on them than one would find on ordinary maps. Like a sea of red stars a hundred military bases of the _Cooperative_ shone in an angry crimson, their number increasing rapidly the closer they got to the Gap of Murkandeere. There was the city of Hreap, a heavy industry multi-million people metropolis in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by red, horizantal "L"'s that stood for tarmacs. A hundred and fifty miles to its southeast, situated in a natural bay area sheltering it from the harsh winter storms of the Neverending Sea, lay Kelen, the largest eastern military port of the _Cooperative_ with its dozens of berths and drydocks for destroyers, missile cruisers and submarines. There were smaller cities on that map, too, and like the two he had just named in his mind, they all came accompanied by red-framed white boxes in which all the data about them was listed that Raeva's military considered necessary: population, strategic industries, military presence in terms of numbers and equipment - and necessary total megatonnage.

He sat alone in his compartment, watching the countryside pass by the windows in a blur as the train reached its maximum speed of just below 150 mph. The conductors ignored him upon seeing his uniform. Military personnel were granted free rides on railway connections, one of a number of special facilities soldiers received and that a number of public figures and their assorted political clubs did not tire to condemn them for. Most other passengers also avoided him. The military had a bad public reputation since the botched intervention in the Troavian succession struggle the year before had resulted in the public humiliation of the Republic and the loss of almost a thousand lifes.

Outside the countryside changed from fields and rolling hills and small towns to the wide, flat plains of Ishkar. Here the railroad ran on concrete pillars twenty feet above the marshland that formed a green belt around the nation's political and economic centre. Beneath him the lights of tractors in the early evening dusk passed by while not far away a motorway paralleled the dual train tracks on an elevated dyke, its traffic running out of the city towards the suburban settlements on the eastern side of the plains. The amount of traffic, just like the size of Ishkar - the city, not the plains - had increased considerably during the past two decades, ever since the mass production of automobiles had become industrially and financially viable. Now most families owned one of them, and Raeva's automobile manufacturers did well enough to be able to export large quantities to Niemas and the smaller countries. His family also had one, a decent upper middle class automobile primarily used by his wife to do all the things a homemaker and mother of three had to do. His wife did not want to live on the base, a fact he could hardly blame her for when it would have meant to abandon the urban society of Ishkar. Relationships were a matter of give-and-take, and with his constant absence he had already taken enough from her and the children.

In the sky the Appox, the smaller of Manquinna's two moons, had risen over the horizon, a pale white crescent against the dark blue of the evening sky. Soon it would turn to purple, then to black, and the moon would shine in a weak, milky yellow until its larger brother Uhres appeared in the middle of the night. The landscape outside had already changed again, having left behind the plains and its greenhouses and agricultural villages. Now the hundreds of chimneys of Ishkar's industrial districts raced past him, and with them hundreds of factories, refineries and steel mills bathed in electric light. Behind them he could see the skyline of the city with its towers and the three great geodesic domes which occupied an area the size of a city block. Even from afar he could see the flood lights illuminating the half done skeletons, covered in metal frames, building cranes poking outward like giant, crooked finger. They were still being worked on. Ishkar never slept.

The view from behind the windows of the high speed train now showed the typical city quarters: shops in brick buildings, appartment blocks, small factories edged between old neighbourhoods, urban railways rattling by on metal pylons. The train was slowing down by now, even though nobody could feel that. The heavy machinery ran as smooth as a well-tuned clock. For ten more minutes the train cautiously became slower until it finally entered Ishkar Central Station, an imposing building from the early days of industrialization resembling a step pyramid from the old ages, complete with stone pillars within the station and bordering it. Over the years the building had been renovated and changed several times, and besides the lower levels nothing had remained the same in the architects' never ending task of adapting it to an ever growing number of travellers and trains.

Today was like every other day. The platforms were full of commuters and ordinary travellers, with employees of the state-run railway company here and there making their way through the crowds. In between them he could see several of the red-uniformed policemen doing their rounds, but like most of Ishkar, Central Station was a save place. It was business as usual, with people hasting from counters to platforms, families welcoming family members that had travelled through the country, customers buying the daily newspapers or magazines or tobacco at the local kiosks. Groups of youths stood together, listening music from the small transistor radios one could buy in every household appliances store nowadays. While he could tolerate the music, the fashion that was "in" right now was like being poked in the eyes. Almost all of them wore kneelong silk coats in the most ugly and bright colour combinations he could imagine, and the standard haicut seemed to include shaving down your hair to less than an inch but let the back of it grow so you could put it into a pony-tail. He just hoped his son did not aspire to look like this.

Like the policemen, his welcoming comittee also stood out from the crowd, but not because of its clothes' colours but rather because the crowd voluntarily formed a bubble around it, not coming too close as if some kind of invisible barreer held it back. Men-at-arms Anaru Aqissiaq's and Tama Piripi's dress uniforms mirrored his own with its grey tunic, dark brown trousers and black polished combat boots. But where their caps, cuffs and collars and shoulder straps were of the same brown as their trousers, his were black and showed his rank insignias in gold: three six-sided stars on each shoulder, one on each cuff, and a shoulder cord of the same colour.  
Both men saluted snappishly when he approached, their right closed fists touching their chests just above the heart. He repeated the military formality and did not linger, continuing down towards the parking lot where his automobile and his driver would be waiting. Aqissiaq and Piripi fell in besides him, one taking his briefcase while the other kept watching his surroundings, always one hand on his open holster.  
High Command attached an escort like this to every high ranking officer in the capital area, and Tarvon knew that some of them also travelled on the high speed train in civilian attire. Political terrorism had started to skyrocket once the postwar period of rebuilding had ended and the new, still cold conflict had begun, but members of the military command had never been attacked so far. Besides, he doubted that Aqissiaq's or Piripi's reflexes would do them any good if some K-Group freak decided to blow himself and everybody else in a twohundred feet radius around him to kingdom come.  
"How was your trip, Constable?" Piripi asked, as he did every day.  
"Fine, but uneventful," he responded, as _he_ did every day. It was a way of a code they had developed over the years as a means to communicate safely. Not so much to evade _Cooperative_ spies, but to make sure he and the circle of High Command he belonged to remained in the know of all that was going on. Through Aqissiaq and Piripi, any kind of news he might come to know of would find its way to the others. The system, of course, also worked the other way around. It was not truly a matter of national security - although _some_ most certainly would stress it was - but one of political necessity.

Ever since the _New Way_ had ousted the _Legislaturist_ government from power two election cycles ago, political intrigue and infighting had taken a hold of High Command, a situation the leaders of the _Cooperative_ and their military most certainly watched with amusement and satisfaction. Tarvon Comalla had no great love for the _New Way_ and its pie-in-the-sky projects and ideas of politics and its disdain for all matters military, but he grudgingly acknowledged that the new government had played a good hand in spreading its influence into the upper ranks of the military. Right now there were three groups fighting for power in High Command: the opportunists who supported the _New Way_ more or less unconditionally; those like Tarvon himself who primarily wanted to keep the military going as a viable force without _New Way_- influence; and those who considered the _New Way_ enough of a danger to national security by now that they were plotting to "put things back into order".  
The last group was a secret, one the _New Way_ could never find out about, or the resulting purge would throw Raeva directly into the hands of the _Cooperative_. Tarvon only knew of the group because he had shortly played with the thought himself. Played with it, remebered his oath, and discarded it. He did not like what was going on, but treason had never been a real option. Still, playing a three-sided game was not a bit easier. That was what made the whole situation so tricky.

In the parking lot the third man of his little escort already waited, leaning on the grey automobile whose driver he was. Here the smell of petrol and tar was heavy in the cooling evening air. People were roaming around the asphalted area but kept a safe distance to the clearly identifiable grey military automobile.  
Chief Kaneo Wiremu was older than the other two men-at-arms by a good decade, almost as old as Tarvon himself. He had still seen some combat during the final battles of the last war as a machine gunner on the Wasillian front. When the war was over he had found his bethrothed in another man's bed, and having had the choice of either killing them both or moving on to the next chapter of his life, he had chosen to stay with the military. Others might claim he had not made much of a carreer there, but as member of the High Command's greater staff he was indeed part of a rather privileged group. Tarvon liked the man for his calm manners and his jovial, down-to-earth humor.  
„We are not going home, Chief."  
„I know, Constable. Got the order via telephone late in the afternoon." He opened the backdoor for Tarvon and waited till he had settled down before starting the petrol engine.

The drive to the Ministry's building took them another twenty minutes through downtown Ishkar, past the feet of the skyscrapers and the bustling construction sites of the geodesic domes.  
"What a waste," Wiremu muttered not for the first time as the car passed by the semi-completed concrete husks.  
"I think they'll be a sign of our progress to the world," Aqissiaq objected against that, looking upwards along the sides of the domes. "Just think about how they'll dwarf everything else at the World Fair."  
"Yeah," Piripi added laconically. "If they ever finish the _graggin'_ things," he added more sourly.  
„At one billion galesh per piece they damn well better finish'em," Wiremu barked.  
They passed a row of police vans coming back from the government district. Tarvon raised an eyebrow at Piripi who sat besides him.  
„Trouble?"  
The man-at-arms grimaced.  
„There was a big anti-military demonstration in front of the Ministry today. Police had them well under control, and everything remained peaceful, as far as I know."  
That such a fact had to be stressed was an irony most likely lost on most of those protestors. Far too often protests for peace and disarmament had the tendency to turn into street riots.  
„What did they want this time?" he inquired as the car passed a military checkpoint before entering the wide courtyard in front of the Ministry's grey concrete building.  
Dustmen with six-wheeled automobiles where still cleaning the place of thrown away placards and all the garbage several thousand people produced over a long day of agitated protesting. A military honour guard in full grey and red dress uniforms, carrying polished rifles with long bayonets, was doing its solemn goose step around the courtyard in two groups of three, one walking the eastern egde, the other the western in a troubling display of synchronicity. At the outer edges of their paths they would turn inwards to the great war memorial where they would present their weapons, shout a salute to the fallen, saulte the flag of the Republic, then walk back.  
„What they always want, Sir: peace on Maquinna, that we stop bombing babies, hugs for the _Cooperative_, sunny weather in winter."  
Aqissiaq and Wiremu snorted almost simultaneously. Piripi had meant it as a joke, but from the eyes of a military man his words were a pretty good description of those people's ideas.  
Involuntarily, Tarvon had to smile, a smile that vanished almost instantly again when he thought about the purpose of his visit. These days, gatherings of High Command usually involved bad news and far too much politicking for his taste.

He took the lift to the sixth floor. This was where High Command communed during peace time. But the conference room was virtually empty this time. A Staff Chief setting up a film projector jumped to attention when the guard in front of the door let Tarvon enter, but besides the man there were only two more people in the large, oval hall: High Constable Unqas Citali, the chairman of High Command, and a man in civilian attire he did not know.  
Upon seeing him, the two men broke off their conversation.  
„Ah, Comalla, good that you could make it," Citali shook his hand.  
Tarvon produced a placid, empty smile and simply nodded.  
„I see I am the first one," he added jokingly.  
The High Constable's mouth twichted for a second.  
„Yes, and the last one." He left it at that. „This is Professor Zech Wapasha of the University of Onosha."  
The man adjusted his round glasses before shaking Tarvon's hand. Tarvon used the delay to study him closer. He was younger than he himself, no older than maybe forty, still with full, dark hair which only showed patches of gray few and far between. His skin was of a weather-beaten copper tone, his hands were much rougher than Tarvon had imagined of an academic, and steel gray whiskers enframed his lean face.  
„Pleased to make your aquaintance, Constable," he greeted him in a pleasant baritone.  
„Likewise, Professor ...Wapasha?"  
The civilian shrugged, obviously not unfamiliar with that kind of reaction.  
„My father was Nieman, from the Principality of Jinktar," he explained patiently. „Shall we start?"  
„Absolutely," Cicali insisted. „Comalla, make yourself comfortable," he pointed at no chair in particular and took a seat himself. „Staff Chief, start the projector when you are ready."

The lights went out, and a film started to roll, showing the professor, only younger, and an excavation team of scientists and helping hand working at a site. Wapasha started to narrate while the film showed all the basic work that was done at an archeologic dig.  
„This was made at temple site in Breshna, in Niemas," he explained. „That was six years ago, still with my mentor, Cassa Tane. We had stumbled upon the site by mere chance, doing some excavation work on a system of drains from the classic era, but as you can imagine – well, you probably _cannot_ – finding something that old is like a jackpot for an archeologist." He cleared his throat as the film continued. „Anyway, it turned out that these ruins were older than everything we had uncovered before, and as you can see here, they were in a great condition, too." The film now depicted colourful mosaics and intricate wall paintings that indeed had taken the test of time well in the dry Nieman soil. „All in all, we were able to date the complex to an age of almost _fivethousand_ years!"  
Tarvon had to whistle at that. Even a layman like he knew that finding anything older than three, maybe three and a half thousand years was an extremely seldom occasion. The lack of archeologic evidence going further past than that was a troubling fact for scholars of all nations. If this _graggin_' site really was as old as the professor claimed, it truly was, as he had said, a jackpot.  
Zech Wapasha smiled at Tarvon's reaction.  
„Indeed, Constable, indeed. That is so old it is more in the realm of myth and fairy tale then archeology, some might say. Anyway," he realized the movie was running ahead of him, „to make this brief, as you can see we excavated quite a multitude of artifacts which alone would have made this a rather spectacular find. But the centre of the complex had been destroyed by some kind of catastrophe. While at other places we found intact walls, and even intact pieces of tools and pottery, this part had been thoroughly trashed. Whether in a natural disaster of through human influence, we cannot know," he shrugged.  
There was a leap in time in the film, and Wapasha went on with his narration.  
„We could not continue during the rainy season. Unfortunately, it was during that time that my colleague and good friend, Professor Tane, caught the swamp fever. His death was a great loss for our team, and it was all the more tragic that we made our greatest find without him. Five years ago, on the twelfth day of the third month, we found _this_," he pointed to the screen.  
The film showed a team of six archeologist and easily ten times that many helping hands carefully uncovering a large, grey ring. It looked strangely out of place, Tarvon thought.  
„It was burried in a chamber beneath the ground in the destroyed part of the complex," the archeologist explained. „We tried to move it cautiously, but it's completely made of metal and weighs more than _thirty tons_;" he emphasized the enormous weight.  
Despite himself, Tarvon was impressed. Raeva had tanks in its arsenal which weighed less. Wapasha waited a few moments before driving his point home.  
„And it's made from metal, Constable," he repeated himself. „An alloy non-existant on Maquinna."

„I am certain this is all very exiting, and no doubt it's a groundbreaking archeologic find, but would you please mind telling what all this has to do with me, or the armed forces in general?"  
He had sounded more aggressive then he had wanted to, but after a twelve hour workday at the base the last thing he was in any mood for was getting deeper into what looked like a plump political ploy by Cicali to do, well, _something_ obviously.  
Professor Wapasha took off his glasses, his eyes shining with surprise as his view switched between Tarvon Comalla and Unqas Citali.  
„I thought he knew!?" It sounded more offended than surprised to Tarvon.  
The High Constable shook his head.  
„There was no time." He looked at Tarvon. „I'll try to make this brief, Constable. Ever since the _Coops_ placed that _graggin'_ probe on Appox four months ago, Strategic Command has been as jumpy as a Ruufa during mating season, and to be honest, the Council has been quite anxious, too. That rocket was a leap in missile technology, and it will be almost half a year till we can send our own stuff to the moon. The Council knows that, and finds itself confronted with an agitated public and a _Cooperative_ unwilling to meet its diplomatic initiatives," he grimaced hardly noticeably.

The High Constable's sympathies for the _New Way_ were no secret, given the fact that it had been their patronage that had gotten him the position in the first place. Every failure of their politics also threatened his standing.

„Be that as it may, ever since the Appox mission Strategic Command has had its boys looking at everything that even only _touched_ the topic of space. That's how we came to the professor's project in the first place. Some banner bearer in photo recon analysis interested in archeology read the article about the relic in some periodical and had the idea to compare the symbols to star constellations. And guess what he found?" He mad a sweeping gesture and nodded towards the Chief operating the projector. The lights went out again, and the film continued, pitting symbols and constellations against each other. There was definately a resemblence in some, Tarvon had to agree.  
„There are thirty-nine symbols on the relic, Constable Comalla," Citali adressed him directly. „We have figured out twenty-two of them so far. And the wall paintings and mosaics, basically the whole findings from Breshna have become a fountain of speculations and possibilities."  
Tarvon answered the High Constable with his placid, empty smile. He knew a Ruufa salesman when he saw one.  
„So it is a really _interesting_ archeologic find," he stated laconically. „And what does that have to do with me, or," he gave Cicali a penetrating look, „the military? What _is_ it? What do you want me for, with that thing? Shall I guard it?" he snorted. „At thirty tons, it's not prime material for burglars, I can assure you of _that_."

The High Constable and Wapasha exchanged a series of looks that seemed like a silent conversation to him before the professor turned his attention to Comalla again.  
„As the High Constable said just a moment ago, there are, well, possibilities. Things I would have never, we would have never thought about." He gathered his thoughts and took a deep breath before continuing. „Constable, we believe this object may hold the key to the dark spots of our distant path. Indeed, I believe it isn't simply an artifact, but a piece of technology, and a very _advanced_ technology at that."  
Tarvon gave him a confused look.  
„You mean 'advanced' as in 'advanced for the era you dated it back to', right?"  
Wapasha shook his head emphatically.  
„No, constable, no. I mean advanced as in 'we couldn't build such a _graggin_' thing in a thousand years from now! That's what I mean!" He took another deep breath. „I believe it is a gateway."  
„A gateway? What gateway? And where to?" Comalla turned to Cicali with an angry glimmer in his eyes. „With all due respect, Sir, but am I in an episode of „The Unbelievable Nightime Stories"?"  
The High Constable's smug smile would have been worthy of being smashed in.  
„You are a clever man, Comalla. Put two and two together," he demanded.  
Wapasha could see the thoughts working behind Comalla's face. A gateway. Thirty-nine star constellations. No, not star constellations. Coordinates. Coordinates fixing a point in space. Comalla shook his head, moaning.  
„You have got to be _graggin_' kidding me!" he bursted out. „A gateway to other worlds?"  
Cicali held his hands up in a defensive gesture, but Wapasha rattled on.  
„Constable, I am not claiming that's what it definately _has_ to be. But all the evidence we have points to that conclusion. Indeed, the more we analyze the archeologic data, the more solid our picture does become."  
„And that's where you come into play, Comalla," the High Constable interjected. „We'll establish this research programme on the 22nd Airmobile Brigade's new base at Rikara, whose commanding officer you will become after this meeting is concluded."

And that concluded their meeting. Soon thereafter, Zech Wapasha left, and when only the two high ranking military officers where alone in the conference room, Cicali handed Comalla a sealed briefcase.  
„Papers, authorizations, all data on the project and your new position. Your transfer to the base has already been approved." He hesitated. „I am sorry. I know this will be hard for your family.  
„Oh, don't patronize me!" Comalla snapped, then pressed his lips together until they were bloodless lines. I would not be hard if you did not send me, but getting rid of one opponent in High Command just was too convinient, was it not? „So you are throwing me out of High Command?" It was not a question but a statement.  
„I'm doing you a favour here, Constable," Citali looked down on him coldly. „After your support for the Troavian intervention you and your friends have become a burden to this government. It is hard enough as it is. Neither the Council nor I have any great need for members of the armed forces who incite and antagonize the very population they have sworn to protect. You should thank me. I am taking you out of the line of fire."  
Tarvon smiled sadly - and remained silent. What could he have answered to such a charge that would _not_ have cost him his job? The fears harboured had been confirmed. It was a clever move. Not only did it effectively banish him from High Command and send him to the northwest in pursuit of some fool's errand, but when it ultimately would fail, the blame would be evenly placed on Tarvon's shoulders, and his shoulders alone.

He left the building, wondering how his carreer, and more importantly, his marriage, would survive this fiasco. Wimeru and his escort were still waiting, but seeing his expression both the Chief and his guards remained a dignified silence as he stepped into his automobile. Only when they were well underway did he finally open the sealed briefcase he had been given. The top folder was itself sealed again, a brown map closed with red wax. Red angry letters read 'T O P S E C R E T', but it was the line beneath them that caught - and held - his eyes.   
Codename: Project Heaven's Gate.


	2. First Steps

**Chapter 1 – First Steps**

Compared to most of Kallar, the Rikaran North was a wasteland, and that not only in an economic aspect. The rocky hills and tundra plains of Rikara were only thinly populated, comprising only slightly more than three million people on an area the size of the Free State of Lythragon. The largest settlement, the district capital of Nevéma, was three hours by autobus away from the base at the Milkwater Hills.

Zech Wapasha had read all that while he sat in the back of a loaded military cargo plane, huddled into a thick fur cloak and winter boots before the constant buzz of the plane's five propellor engines had cradled him into a three hour long sleep. Accustomed to the warm climate of Niemas and the south west of Kallar, the professor would have preferred any place but the installation at the very temperate summertime Milkwater Hills, but one of his strengths that had enabled him to rise through the ranks of established scientific archeology and gain his chair before the age of forty was his ability to adapt rapidly to changes, be they in climate, work environment or sponsorship. He had grown up as a youth always on the road, living a few years in that city state in Niemas, then in another, then in one of the island nations, or spending his college years in Raeva.

That, as he liked to call it, cosmopolitan outlook to life had nurished his stance that he did not care too much about political loyalties, but rather about his work and whose back he had to scratch for it to proceed. Zech Wapasha was an opportunist in the most positive sense of the word. Him being apolitical however, had often been mistaken as a sign of _being_ political, or at least sharing the same political sympathies as most of his students did - by his students.  
He had assembled a handpicked team of archeologists, linguists and members of a dozen other sciences he had worked with during the past decade. Most of them were younger than himself, and many were still in the center of the social struggles that also had befallen the Raevan university system in the wake of the atmosphere that had brought the _New Way_ to power. As an archeologist by heart, Wapasha had noticed the politization of the classrooms with amusement as well as bewilderment. Science in the humanities was a place of a thousand shades of greys, and that new approach aspired a kind of ideological purity which he considered to be unscientific, but which had at least taken root with a good many of his colleagues.

As such, the fact alone that, from that particular day two weeks ago, his work was now officially financed and supervised by the Armed Forces had been a major factor in creating bad blood between the professor and people he had known for years. Some had outright refused to work under the auspices of the military, others had only grudgingly joined a project that was not only financed by a social force they despised, but was hosted at one of their places and, on top of that list of insults, was even classified. The nature of the project itself made it necessary to seperate them from much of the 22nd Airmobile Brigade. Still, with the patience of the good aunt of the family and the arguments of the wise uncle, he had gathered a group of thirtyfour willing participants.

The base for „Project: Heaven's Gate" was situated a bit off the actual military base. Like most of that, their little compound was still under construction, but their quarters were already complete. The scientists shared a series of flat top concrete bungalows, with four or five sharing one such apparatment.  
Constable Comalla also had transferred to a similar appartment on the base. After initially being everything but pleased with his new position, the military man had taken an active approach to managing things. Propelled by his handling, their main reserach compound was also taking shape, even though nobody would ever mistake it for anything related to civilians, or civilian research. The building measured a hundred metres in length to sixty metres in width and was two stories tall from the outside, but only one and a half inside. Surprised by the discrepancy he had asked one of the military engineers at the building site.  
„The whole building's made from armoured concrete," he had answered without really stopping to observe the construction activities. „The walls are a metre thick, the roof's twice the strength. Won't do much good against direct bombardment, but unless you leave the doors wide open, nothing can harm you in there," he had shrugged, making notes with a pencil on his pad.

And indeed, the building was windowless, and possessed only three doors: two man-sized, and one large enough for an autotruck to drive through, all made of foot-thick steel. But it was more the military environment he had had trouble to get used to then the military behaviour. At least, as far as Zech Wapasha himself was concerned. In one way or another he had had continuous contact with military officials during most of his carreer. Especially in Niemas, the city states were eager to place military watchdogs at the side of foreign archeologists, or foreigners in general.

Others had more trouble adapting, something that the professor spent quite a lot of his scarce time on in an effort to mellow things out. Few were really happy with working for the military. That they hated to depend on warmongers was among the more level headed comments some had made. And in truth, Zech Wapasha could have imagined better alternatives – but none of those actually existed! He had made the best deal out of a limited number of options. Though his efforts to communicate as much more often then not fell on deaf ears among the team he had assembled. That most of them had still come was owed to his good reputation and his experience.

One of those who had come was one of his former students, and a member of the expedition that had uncovered the artifact. His full name was Kisecawchuck Antiman, but everybody just called him 'Chuck' instead. The fuzzy-bearded man had not changed much. Indeed, he seemed to have become even fuzzier ever since he had arrived at Milkwater Fields. Most likely, to him that was his very personal attempt to show his resistance against the uniformed military environment all around him. To Zech Wapasha, it was childish pettyness.  
Despite all their special wishes and demands for accomodations and treatment, and all their snot-nosed behaviour towards the servicemen, the military had always been helpful, calm, yes, almost servile during the past two weeks since they had set up shop here in a tributary valley of the Milkwater.

Still, he respected Chuck for his knowledge in pre-classic history. More so, he had discovered what had turned out to be a galactic adress registry in a chamber behind the burried artifact. Most of the combinations on the cartouche had been destroyed, but about one tenth survived the wrath of time, and Chuck and Zech alike were confident another handful could be restored with careful work.

„I really don't understand these military types," he kept muttering while he tried to re-arrange a table dedicated for the placement of artifacts. He looked up at the professor. „I mean, look at all that wasted money! They have the tarmacs up there," he vaguely pointed to the north-east, „then they build the base in the valley to the south, and then," he held up a third finger, „they place us in a totally different valley half a mile to the north! I really should write my councilman about that! No wonder the military is always crying for more money. I mean, what sense does all that make?!"  
The professor gave him a mild smile.  
„I know you don't like them, Chuck, but even so, they do have their reasons for doing the things they do. It just that sometimes they are a whole lot different from the ones we civilians have."  
The younger archeologist snorted but did not press the point any further.  
„I still think bringing this project into the fold of the military, of all people, was wrong."  
Zech Wapasha sighed and shook his head.  
„Listen, Chuck, we've had this discussion now how often? A hundred times? You know the reasoning: they pay the bills, and they have promised to do so for some time to come. If we find something extraordinary, in ten years from now we will be able to publish it. If we find just the normal stuff," he did not have to elaborate what the 'extraordinary stuff' was, „we are free to publish it right away. This is a pretty safe carreer path, Chuck, and at least _I_ am flexible enough to bear with military oversight. The advantages very much outweigh the disadvantages here, don't you think so, too?"  
„Fine, allright, I do see your point, Zech, but why do they have to go to such lengths to push us into the most remote corner of Raeva, and even there, into its most remote place?" he threw up his arms in frustration. „And then we end up only being able to use half the place."

„So little gratitude," an amused voice interrupted the archeologists' conversation. Both men's head rocked around to the source of that voice as a soldier stepped through metal doorframe, his clean shaven face showing a crooked smile. „Actually, I am certain High Command thought you all would be rather grateful for its efforts to keep you safe and alive."  
„Oh, I'm certain we need as much protection from the moose herds as we can get," the younger scientist sneered. „And who the hell are you anyway?"  
The soldier gave gim a long, probing look. Zech knew enough of the military rank structure to figure out that the man before him had at least the rank commander, if not even a higher one, and every ounce of his appearence cried that he meant business. Still, the man kept up a placid smile, even though the professor thought that a hint of scorn had crept into it.  
„Actually, I was talking about _Cooperative_ atomics. You _do_ realize that the base is a strategic target?" he added with a more wolfish character slipping into his grin as Chuck Antiman started to pale. „And if you had bothered asking one of the army engineers running around the compound, he'd gladly have told you that the rest of this building's space is reserved for quarantine and medical sections."  
He turned to Zech. The holstered sidearm seemed so much a part of the man the professor had not even noticed it till now as the uniformed officer strode closer and extended his arm. Zech grabbed the extended forearm in the common gesture.

„I am Professor Zech Wapasha, scientific leader of this programme," he introduced himself.  
„I know. Pleased to make your aquaintance. I am Commander Patar Tane of the 4th Airmobile Cohort. I will be the military commander of all field missions."  
The name rang a bell with Zech, even though he could not pinpoint it. Chuck however seemed to have less problems in recognizing it as his eyes almost bulged out of his skull and his face turned red.

xxxxx

Constable Tarvon Comalla, leader of the 'Heaven's Gate' Programme was checking progress reports when the door to his office slammed open, revealing a fuming Zech Wapasha.  
„The _Butcher of Dagonar_?! Are you completely out of your mind!?"  
Tarvon neatly placed the papers back on a pile and frowned.  
„I take that as a confirmation that you have already met the commander of our military detachment for the 'Heaven's Gate' program," he stated evenly.  
„Constable, what in the maker's _graggin_' name is that man doing here!?" the professor was almost yelling at the constable. Comalla remained completely calm in the face of the archeologists outburst and instead leaned back in his chair, studying the man's face intently. After a few moments of silence, he answered him.  
„Commander Tane is here because I specifically requested him to be transferred to this programme, Professor Wapasha."  
„But the man's a war criminal! He's a murderer! You cannot-."  
Tarvon's fist slammed down on the table, the sudden outburst of anger cutting off the scientist's tirade.  
„What I _can_ or _cannot_ do is none of your _graggin_' business, professor. Commander Tane is one of Raeva's most experienced and highly decorated soldiers. His service record reads like a list of all possible medals and recommendations that possibly could be available. He is a gifted leader of men in the field, highly educated, and capable of doing everything necessary to ensure your people's safety and the success of every possible mission this programme might make necessary. I do not doubt your scientific credentials and do not meddle in your work. Do me a favour and do the same for me," he finished icily.  
„But he's responsible for the death of at least a hundred civilians, including women and children, fer _gragg_'s sake!"  
„Commander Tane and his cohort were cut off behind enemy lines in the Troavian Intervention and fought their way back to the naval landing zone with incredible ingenuity and military skill. During that, they killed five times their own number of enemies, destroyed three rebel command posts and blew up two railroad brigdes, denying the enemy access to further parts of Troaves City itself."  
„That's all nice and dandy, and I'm sure something the military can really be proud of, but he killed a hundred innocents!", Wapasha yelled.  
„And all you have to prove that accusation is the word of an insurgent group, supported by _Coop_ advisors, vying for legitimacy – an effort in which such an alleged massacre of course would come very handy. Accusations of a political arch enemy that you, however, licked up like sweet cream! I had thought you to be a bit more intelligent than to fall for ploys like that, professor," he growled with obvious derision. „Did Commander Tane kill those people? Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. They were hiding in a _graggin_' K-Group command bunker! In a _graggin' warzone_! I look at that man, and all I see is a hero. Do you know why I wanted him for this programme?"  
He looked up at the professor who had shut his lips so tightly that all blood had vanished from them.  
„Lost your speech?" he snorted. „Well, I can live with that. I'll tell you why I wanted Patar Tane: Patar Tane is good at killing things. That's why. Oh, spare me your superficial morals, will you, and start thinking, just for a moment." His hard features softened somewhat, and he offered Zech a chair. Reluctantly, the archeologist sat down.  
„Have you ever thought about why we have never heard about the 'gate before?" he asked the professor.  
„Well, of course, but what has that to do with Commander Tane?" he answered with a confused frown.  
„Why, everything, Professor Wapasha, everything." He produced just the hint of a smile before his face turned serious again. „The Gate was burried in a destroyed compound, by our ancestors. Why did they destroy and bury it? What did they try to stop from coming through? Do you see what I am hinting at, Professor? Our ancestors burried the Gate for a reason. Hopefully, if we get it running again, we will not meet that reason. But hope is a bad advisor, Professor Wapasha," he sighed. „So when the Gate opens, Commander Tane will be your insurance against whatever lurks on the other side."

xxxxx

Two weeks later the day they had all waited for had finally come. The base was fully operational. The artifact had arrived via transport plane, and the base technical staff had installed the metal ring at the end of a wide road made of concrete plates on a foot-high socket. Thick electrical cords lead from the dark grey ring into a pair of transformers that hooked them into the electricity network of the base, and in effect, Rikara.

The controls for the experiment rested in a mobile wagon that resembled an oversized trailer. Soldiers guarded the setup from makeshift trenches that had been dug all around the artifact at careful distances. Everybody was wearing protective goggles, even inside the control wagon. Outside, telecameras recorded everything and send the pictures directly onto the telescreens inside.

Then a countdown began. Slowly one of the technicians counted back from twenty to zero, and an electrical current shot into the artifact. A mechanical dashboard showed in blinking how the signs for what the scientists had decided was the safest connection slowly locked in. When the last symbol had been dialed, a huge fountain-like burst shot from the gate and fell back into itself, and all that remained was a surface that looked like a vertical, calm lake. A new age had begun.


	3. A New World

**Chapter 2 - A New World**

It had been amusing, watching the scientists drag their feet in their unfamiliar and heavy gear while the base technicians had run stress tests with the artifact. They had selected the connection once, then twice, then another time to see for how long it could be kept open, to find out how much electricity was needed, to elaborate how much electric power the artifact could take. All in all, they had created what some scientists had called a 'wormhole' – without really understanding the science behind it – ten times. They had been able to keep it up for between thirtysix minutes and eighteen seconds and thirtyeight minutes and four seconds. That was how long their window of opportunity would be. No matter how much energy they tried to pump into it, they had not been able to extend the connection longer than that.  
Zech Wapasha found the whole setup fascinating. For the first time, one of his artifacts had truly come to life, and boy, was it breath-taking. He would most likely have found it even more fascinating had his mind not been distracted by all the preparations taking place around him, and the heavy protective gear he was wearing. It had not dawned on him and his colleagues what hurdles travelling to a foreign planet included until an army appropriation's officer had handed him his gear. Toxins in the atmosphere had to be neutralized, risk of infection had to be neutered, communication had to be kept up at all costs in an alien environment, the body had to be guarded against injury and accidental damage.  
In terms of equipment that little lists translated into army NBC protection suits, gasmasks, medpacks, sidearms, survival gear, and vests and helmets made from composite materials. Oh, and, of course, their own equipment in backpacks: alltogether, some forty pounds. Under a 'Safety First' course of instruction held by three of Patar Tane's chiefs the civilian scientists had been trained to master their gear, and even more urgently, to get in and out of it, during the past weeks.  
It had been all they could do. Commander Tane, as well as the Constable, had been less than pleased with their performance, a judgement that had not helped in reducing the animosity that his team fostered towards the military. Still, compared to the soldiers of the 4th Airmobile Cohort they _did_ move like a herd of crippled ruufa bitches.

But whatever his feelings towards that were, his thrilling anticipation outweighed them by far. And now their great moment would finally come. Zech Wapasha and Chuck had been invited to the command compound, as had Patar Tane and his second in command, Ishkent Riever, a fifty year old gaunt fighter with almost black eyes that lacked any hint of emotion. If Patar Tane and most of the Fourth radiated an air of determination and prowess, Ishkent Riever's emitted one of death, like a black onyx reflecting sunlight. In his presence even Chuck's biting sarcasm had made the wise decision not to surface.  
A phalanx of dashboards and telescreens illuminated the narrow space of the control room that seemed overly crowded with the four 'worldwanderers', as Chuck had jokingly started to call them, as well as Chief Nuka and the Constable being present, but despite the four of them wearing their heavy gear none of them were sweating as a powerful ventilator kept pumping the cool autumn air from outside into the electronics-stuffed room.  
„Their comes the guinea pig," Tane commented dryly as a man clad in one of Raeva's new space suits clumsily trodded closer to the gate.  
„Dialing connection, Sir," Chief Nuka announced, starting to push buttons and pull small levers on the gear in front of him. Slowly the artifact's inner ring began to turn, locking in the symbols they had been trying out for the past week. Whenever one was locked, a counter on the prime dashboard switched the according symbol's illumination from the standard 'yellow', meaning inactive, to its common opposite, 'blue'.  
The team of twelve scientists he had picked for the first mission (there was no shortage of volunteers) and the twenty soldiers that would accompany them waited in a safe distance from the artifact when the 'exploding bubble' announced the last symbol had been locked in and a connection established. The man in the space suits reluctantly strode closer to the event horizon. The suit was equipped with a three hours' supply of oxygen as well as with a series of instruments and cameras that would help the user deduce whether he found himself in an hospitable environment. Half of that was experimental and came directly from the Polytechnic University of Ishkar and the Army Bureau of Procurement, but then, their whole effort here was highly experimental in nature.

For a moment the man just watched the flowing wall ahead of him. Carefully he touched it, then jolted and made two quick steps forward – and was gone. Even though that was what everybody had expected, yes, wanted to happen, the whole control room collectively drew breath. For two seconds which seemed to draw on for all eternity nothing at all happened. Then, finally, the crackle of static and a hollow voice broke the silence.  
„This is Man-at-arms Faridoon Aram speaking. I have safely made the passage," the voice sounded more surprised at that than anything else. „Switching on camera for wireless transmission... Sir, this is breathtaking."

The pictures that accompanied Zech Wapasha on his walk to the Heaven's Gate had been that: breathtaking. They had been grainy, black and white, more stills than moving due to the loss in quality in a wireless transmission, but what they had shown, and what Man-at-arms Aram had described had surpassed all he had imagined. And now he would see it with his own eyes. Filled with fear and anticipation, he and the others walked two-and-two towards the shining vertical plane of water. While the scientists were mostly silent, Patar Tane's men seemed to take the occasion with the same cool-headedness they would have shown during a training march: they exchanged japes.

„Oh, c'mon. I'll bet 20 gal that this is just some _graggin_' army hoax," one moaned, adjusting his gear.  
„_Your mom's_ an army hoax, Petera," a second soldier snorted, nudging the speaker.  
„Nah, she's no hoax," another one from further down the column snickered. „I've been with her just last night."  
Zech heard them joke, but their eyes spoke a different language. They were awake, alert, ready to act. Constable Comalla had told him these were among finest Raeva's forces had to offer, and the way they kept themselves, the way they handled their heavy equipment without even braking into sweat and the casual professionality with which they handled their automatic rifles were reassuring. Those men had already seen combat, they knew what they were doing.

Then he was there. With a start, he stepped through the flowing field of energy. Twirling streams of light encircled him, took him on a disembodied rollercoaster ride. The feeling of not truly being there was the strangest he had ever sensed. However, as soon as it had begun it was already over again. With maybe two seconds passing by, the wormhole spat him out. The last thing he saw before reality welcomed him again was a blinding white flash, then he stumbled forward and came to a rest on his knees, breathing heavily. The dizziness had something of sea-sickness on it, but it endured no longer than his 'transport' had taken. Looking up two legs standing in front of him, he scrambled back to his feet.  
Ishkent Riever stood over him, his dark eyes checking the surroundings without paying any notice to the man at his knees. With his short-barrelled submachinegun in a firm grip, the stoic officer cooly evaluated their situation. The other soldiers of the 4th that had gone through before Zech Wapasha had shaken off their stupor just as easy. Wordlessly they spread in the room, their rifles ready.

Now, the other scientist also started coming through, and he took a first look at the place he had travelled to. The room was roughly quadratic, as far as he could judge it. To his left and right, solid walls rose up while before and behind the artifact pillars allowed glimpses of the world outside to pierce into the twilight of the gate room. Stocky pillars in the colour of dark sand and covered with fine slits held a solid roof plate some ten feet above everybody's heads. On the two solid walls more of those slits could be seen, accompanied by rich and apparently new mosaics showing people bowing down to mythical creatures with the bodies of men and the heads of animals. Some seemed to go with them, back through the gates while others delivered corn and amphorae and gold as shows of respect and humility.  
„Unbelievable," he heard Chuck mutter while the man tried to readjust his glasses beneath his gas mask to no avail. „That's pre-classical cuneiform writing in its purest form," he continued more to himself than to the others who were also now starting to notice their surroundings. Noticing Zech besides him, he produced a rather uncommon feral grin. „Good thing you convinced me to come. Hemi and I are probably two out of only twenty people worldwide who can still decypher this."  
„Can you tell me what it says?"  
„Give me a minute here. I'll have to take notes," he turned his head around. „Hemi? Give me a hand here!" Hemi Nanuq almost jumped at the mention of his name. He was six years older than Chuck, a lot calmer than the activist - slash - scientist, half a head smaller and about fifty pounds heavier. Almost immediatly, he produced a notepad and a pen and started scribbling away.

Another shout drew his attention away from the two.  
„You've got to _graggin_' see this!" tenured professor Ninnish Lesqua yelled before visible blushing at his choice of words. He stood at the end of the room where the pillars where far enough apart from each other that a fifteen feet wide opening existed. „It's a true ziggurat!" he exclaimed before his view rose to the sky and an astonished 'Gods!' left his mouth.

Had it just been for the completely intact compound, the experience would still have been phenomenal: the archeologic find of a lifetime. But the view the space between the sand-coloured pillars gave away was what made it truly epic.  
A large, red sun stood high in the sky, easily three times as large as Surya. Less lucent and yet far more odd and outstanding was the large planet visible on the northern horizon. It filled easily half that part of the sky, a giant set of white rings of cosmic dust and ice surrounding its horizontal axis. Where the giant sun blazed in a constant, soft red tone, the gas giant's colours could be seen shifting, it's turbulent atmosphere whirling in shades of purple, white and spots of orange. Dark against it's rainbow colours and the red of the sun its moons silently accompanied it, five of them so larger – or close – Zech could see them with the naked eye. The professor walked closer to the edge and watched it all with his mouth gaping beneath his gas mask. His colleagues all showed their astonishment in various forms, some with loud 'oh!'s and 'ah!'s, other with rationalizing chatter.

The soldiers, however, took it all again with placidity and dry humour.  
„Well, Petera, time to pay the _gragg_ up!"

The ziggurat rose about sixty feet into the sky, three massive blocks of fired clay and sandstone piled atop each other, crowned by the temple- like structure that housed an artifact identical to the one back on Maquinna. Steps wide enough for eight men to walk besides each other lead down to the ground level to a square flanked by four pointy-ended pillars. Around the area, green marshlands and fields with high green plants and streams that looked as if they had been artifically created spread into the distance. Thin streams of smoke rising from a dozen spots in the distance were clear signs of civilization: cookfires, potteries, forges, most likely. Even if those had not been there, the massive sight of a city so large it could be seen from a good twenty miles' distance were unmistakable signs that this place was inhabited.  
A dusty road lead away from the ziggurat into the fields and marshlands to somewhere join up with the more lively roads that no doubt lead to the large city in the distance – and a scrawny old man in elaborate robes was doing his very best to master that very road as fast as he could. He was accompanied by two younger men who, to Zech at least, seemed to be something akin to his apprentices. No, novices, Zech corrected himself silently. A priest and his novices.

It took the middle-aged man a while to master the hundreds of steps to the upper platform, but he did it with as much speed and dignity as he could offer. The scientists had gathered in the centre of the gate room. The men of the 4th respectfully stayed in the background. If this all went well, Zech would have to commend them and Tane to Comalla.  
Upon seeing them, the three men threw themselves on the ground and started uttering a singsang that he figured out was supposed to be a prayer! It took some moments – and quite some hesitation on the three priests' side – to make them stand up again, an even once they had done so, they kept their eyes down. There words struck a chord, even though he could not really understand them. Acting as politely as he could towards a non-Maquinnan who he could not understand (and who lived on a _graggin_' different planet!), Zech finally directed the three robed figures to the two men who had so far studied the cuneiform script.

„Hemi, Chuck, take the good priest here and let him read the script." Tane gave him a questioning look. „Some of the words ring a bell somewhere in the back of my mind," he explained. „We don't really know how our ancestors spoke, how they pronounced there language. It's like reading Rivecan script," he continued. „You know the letters and symbols, but they pronounce them completely different." He pointed to the three robed men who looked almost comical in the middle of the thirty-something NBC-protected explorers. „And then there's also the matter of phonetic drift," he muttered. „Even if the culture doesn't really change, a language simply _does_ change over the millenia."  
Tane nodded absent-mindedly, producing a set of binoculars to peer across the countryside.  
„It would be nice to have two translators with us. In peace and war alike, understanding is fundamental for success." He turned to Zech to produce a wry grin beneath his mask. „And I do not plan to make our first steps into a new world the prelude to a new war."  
The professor snorted and crossed his arms before his chest, looking back over his shoulders at the gathered scientists and the three native men.  
„I am not a _New Way_ man, Commander. My colleagues may still consider this a living history trip, but if this place resembles pre-classic Niemas, you will not hear any complaints about your presence here from me. Those were rough times, Commander," he shrugged. „Besides, most of my colleagues are fluent in the classic period's language, and from all we know that's a direct derivate of what came before it. Once they've become accustomed to the dialect here, they all should be able to speak it more or less fluently. Hemi and Chuck will still be the only ones capable of reading it, however."

While Hemi Nanuq was still politely asking holes into the natives' stomachs, who took it all showing sincere, even frightened respect to all of them, Chuck implied a bow and turned over to the group around Zech Wapasha and Patar Tane.  
„This is Isiratuu. He's some kind of high priest, and those are two novices of his order," Chuck explained. „As far as I understood him, they are charged with guarding and consecrating the artifacts and other things that he said were '_of the gods_'."  
„So they think it's magic, and not a piece of hardware," Ishkent Riever commented flatly, eyeing the three men coldly. The professor could see Chuck's eyes flash beneath the mask and put a hand on the man's arm.  
„Think about it: If the most advanced piece of tech' you know of is your horse-drawn plough, you'd probably also think a glowing ring of metal was something divine," he mused towards both men.  
„Apparently, they do not use the artifact, the '_chappa'ai_', as they call it, themselves. To do so would be a great sin. Only the gods and those touched by them may travel through the chappa'ai," he looked back at the three priests and then leaned closer to the professor. „I thought it the best to go with it. I doubt we'd get a good start here if we started with breaking some massive local taboo. Isiratuu insisted take us to the city we saw in the distance, to a place where '_a god and his mother reside_'. Don't look at me like that! They were his words, and I'm pretty confident I got them right," he hushed.

xxxxx

The professor's instinct had been right. The natives did speak a variant of the old tongue, and Hemi and Chuck had shown incredible adaptive prowess in getting used to it. And soon the other scientists were catching on. And the city was waiting for them.  
Eight soldiers of the 4th and two - grudging- scientists stayed at the gate site, the remaining twenty people would follow Isiratuu and his novices to the city.  
„Chief, you will stay with us all the time," Tane ordered a man whose name tag read 'Catoose Nanook' and who carried a small, sealed metal briefcase and a sidearm instead of the wood-framed automatic rifle his comrades bore.  
Zech gave the man a quizzical look but was hindered from further inquiry when they started their march down the ziggurat and towards the city.

At any other occasion the climate of the planet would have been great: warm, with a soft breeze and enough humidity to not completely dry one's throat. A place you would want to spend your holidays at. But laden with thirty pounds of equipment and sealed of in the articial NBC protection suits, it was hell. Tane had to make regular stops along the road to let them all rest, occasions where the priests hurried around and in between them with worried faces. Zech thanked whatever gods there were that the designers of the suits had thought of a system that enabled to user to drink water without taking his mask off.  
Twice they had come through villages, primitive settlements with flat-top houses built from fired clay. The villagers, just as the peasant they had met on the road, had kept a respectful distance from them, even more so once they had seen the priest and his novices. Some had thrown themselves on the ground, face flat down and arms strechted forward. The priests moved past them as if they did not exist. Zech had found that strange at first, now he found it to be troubling. A look into the faces of the others revealed they also were troubled by what they witnessed. Even Commander Tane could not hide a frown as they came closer to the city and the occasions like that became more frequent. Even horse and ox carts made way for them, and there were a good many of them, their number increasing rapidly the closer to the city they got. A mile before the walled settlement, the fields to their right receded and a wide and slow-flowing river got into view. Dozens of river barges and shallow boats, some with triangular sails, others with rows of oarsmen where hurling goods along the waterway.

„Marduk!" Isiratuu pointed at the tower-flanked gates and nodded vigorously. „Marduk!"

Marduk was an astonishing city. Surrounded by a city wall twenty feet high that cut clear through the countryside like drawn with a giant ruler, flanked by a hundred square brick towers on sandstone foundations, Marduk was home to at least a hundred thousand people, if not more. Guards in linnen tunics, armed with spears, patrolled the walls and the gates but respectfully made way for them, too,lowering their eyes as Zech and Tane and his men walked by.  
Inside, wide roads built like on a game of _Shah_ were flanked by tall brick and sandstone buildings, many of them ornated with richly coloured, fired tiles. Here and there, rich merchants and members of the urban upper class even lived in their own mini-ziggurats, forty feet high, and higher.  
The people themselves looked a lot like those on central Niemas, even though these here were smaller and thinner by at least four inches and twenty pounds. The skin colour was of a dark copper-like tone and the hair was dark brown and black, even though some of the more wealthy women they walked by on the streets had apparently dyed their's with a henna-like substance.

And wherever they went, the people made way, bowed, lowered their eyes, halted in their tasks. Zech, and by the looks of it, most of the soldiers, had come to the conclusion that this was done out of fear, rather than respect.

The march threw the city took at least half an hour, if not longer, until they reached what they had dubbed the palace. Even here, the guards made way for the priest, but here it was him who lowered his eyes, and the giards themselves eyed Zech and the Raevans openly. There were guards on the walls, and in the courtyard: dozens, hundreds of them. And unlike those men of the city watch, these were all tall, muscular men in grey chainmail armour, carrying no spears but long, double-sided clubs. The way they moved and held those things indicated they knew how to use them.  
„I've got a bad feeling about this, Sir," Ishkent Riever muttered calmly as they entered the huge courtyard through a gate house with solid iron-framed doors.  
From the size of it, this was no palace but a city within the city. The courtyard alone was easily threehundred paces wide, lined with dozens of buildings from forges to stables to granaries that had been built with their backs against the palace walls, walls that emulated the city walls and actually surpassed them in height by a good ten feet. But if the palace area was huge, then the ziggurat, sitting in its middle like a spider in its web, was truly monumental. At the foot of it, Isiratuu turned to Chuck and unleashed a torrent of words and apologies on the archeologist before motioning them to wait while he hurried up the steps, holding up his robes with boths hands.

He had not yet mastered ten of them when a commotion at the top of the steps caused him to stop. Visibly paling, he hurried down again, turned around to face the ziggurat, and threw himself on his knees. His novices did the same. A procession was descending the ziggurat, a handful of people under a canopy, flanked by half a dozen of the omnipresent guards.

The Raevan's waited patiently for what they thought would be the local king and his court. That was, until the canopy stopped twenty steps above them, and a tall, red-haired man accompanied by an older, but still beautiful woman in elaborate robes ornated with loads of jewellry flashed his eyes at them.  
„Who trespasses against the laws of Ishkur?" his voice thundered unnaturally loud across the courtyard. „Who uses the chappa'ai of Rustam, son of Ishkur?! Kree!" The guards, also those in the courtyard and on the walls, stood at the ready while Isiratuu pressed his head into the dust, sweating while his features tightened. Weak-voiced, he uttered a litany of apologies, allthewhile shooting sideway glances at Zech and the Raevans. The man above – if it as a _man_ – seemed less than satisfied by the priests explanations, his face also growing visibly tighter. The woman, resting comfortably on a palanquin, eyed them aloof. As if we were bugs, Zech thought with no small amount of surprise. Besides that, a faint sound, somewhere between roar and whine, slowly started filling the air.  
After a few more moments in which neither of the speakers of the team dared to interfere in the conversation between the priest and the red-haired man, trying not to break another cultural taboo, the undoubtedly superior man beneath the canopy cut the priest short with a rash gesture and looked down on him, and then on them disdainfully.  
„Jaffa! Kree!"  
On the barked command, guards all around the courtyard lowered their staffs – and their points folded out with an audible buzz and a quite visible electric current. If anything could be said about the men of the 4th then it was that they kept their calm. They avoided threatening movements like the plague and yet formed a close circle around the civilian team members.

„What's that sound?!" Zyanya Aylen, the only female member of the civilians, asked, half-annoyed, half-irritated, looking around the courtyard for the source without really realizing the guards all around her.

A pair of delta-winged, hawk-like jetcraft raced across the city's rooftops only to rise into the sky in a high-g turn that only the best of pilots could have managed at such apparent speeds.  
„Well, now we're in _deep_ trouble."


	4. City of Marduk, Part I

**Chapter 3 - City of Marduk**

The alien warriors stood no five paces away from him, up on the dam that also served as a road between the villages and irrigated fields. He could see him clearly through the tall, thick plants. The peasant struggled and twisted in his arms, forcing him to apply an even more iron grip on the young man. One rubber gloved fist closed his mouth tight, the other both of his arms behind his back. The fear and adrenalin gave him strength, far more strength than he normally had. Strangely enough, his mind was calm, as was the breathing under his mask. If anything, he felt detached from what he did and what was happening around him. He saw, he did, he realized, but he felt nothing. Beneath him, he youth's eyes were widening, the twisting was getting more erratic. Realizing as much with a more scientific interest than anything else, he spurred his muscles further into action, raising the young man from the ground like a piece of wood so that his twitching limbs did not splash on the water they stood in.  
On the dam, the Jaffa warrior had moved to the opposite side of the fields. He did not take his eyes off the grey-armoured man and his comrades. There had to be comrades; there always were. That much he had painfully learned during the past hours. Hours? Had it really just been hours? It already felt like he had been on the run for days. He unconsciously touched the holster on his right side. The weapon was armed and ready, but it was his last clip. His other three clips now were contained in half a dozen staff carrying bodies.  
He was so intent on watching his surroundings that it took him some moments to realize that the struggling had stopped. Wide, dead eyes stared accusingly at him, and accusation that did not touch him. Slowly, he let the body slide into the knee-deep water and squeezed it between a truss of really large plants to hide it even more. There were still voices coming from the dyke, among them the thrice-damned 'Jaffa, kree!', but they were moving away from him, slowly.  
Waiting till they had almost become inaudible, he scurried back to the narrow elevated path that ran through the fields, ducking low. His feet swiftly carried him further towards his goal, faster than the enemy, he dared to hope.

Three of them had remained outside the palace, darting into a side road at a wink of Ishkent Riever before the rest of the troop had entered the massive inner-city complex. Using their binoculars it had not taken them long to figure out trouble was brewing, a feeling the became very obvious once the jets raced past their heads and made the city folk flee in horror. Then those warriors had poured out of palace, and before he and his comrades could even figure out what was going on the shooting had started.  
It had been a random razzia, the grey-clad warriors unleashing those glowing energy bolts from their staffs into the panicking people like the fists of an angry god - or a sociopathic four year old throwing a temper tantrum. By ill luck, the enemy found them before their radio operator could set off a call to the second team.

From that point on, it had been a running battle. Tamati had fallen two blocks away from the city gates, struck by three bolts in the back. Goyathay had died holding them back at the gates, killing them like an angry god with aimed automatic rifle fire until all his clips had been spent. With his dying breath he had taken some with him with the grenades he had left him. He prayed the sacrifice had been worth it. Maybe an hour, and he would be back at the artifact. The people there would know what to do.

xxxxx

Enheduana. That was the name of the planet. In the light of their captivity and torture, such trivia was easily forgotten. They had been stripped of their gear, beaten, tortured and questioned. How much each of them had told their capturers, nobody could say. Still, before being taken, the man named 'Catoose Nanook' had broken a seal on that metal briefcase he had been carrying, and Patar Tane had smiled when the contents of that briefcase had gone up in hot magnesium flames.

The torture had been harder on Zech Wapasha and his civilian friends. While the soldiers all had been more or less distraught when they had been thrown back into the pits, their intense training as commando troopers and parachutists in the army's special operations division had steeled them against the horrors of the interrogation chambers. Nothing like this could be said about the scientists that had come through the gate to Enheduana. All were in a state of shock. Most had been bruised and beaten and had suffered some injuries none could really see right now. More so, the harsh treatment and the application of that thrice-damned hand device that inflicted great pain _and_ forced the poor soul it was used on to follow the will of the user had wreaked havoc on the state of mind of pretty much all of them.

Most were seeking solitude, a state not easily achieved in the crowded and stinking pits full of people. Some were crying uncontrollably, others just stared at the ceiling. Tane's soldiers did their very best to help them while trying to hide their own bruises and haunting memories.

"Are you allright?" He had not noticed Ishkent Riever stepping besides him. The man seemed as calm as ever, his empty eyes still showing not a hint of emotion. His face was badly bruised, though, his thin lips burst at three different spots. If he felt much pain, he did hide it well.

"I'm afraid, but not too badly hurt," he said in a voice as steady as he could manage. "However, I fear for the others." The shock of torture and captivity had hit him less hard than most of his colleagues, even if only slightly so. The conversation he had had that evening about why their ancestors had buried the artifact had unconsciously prepared part of his mind that some things they might find would be less than pleasant.

Enheduana. He had learned the name from other prisoners in the slave pits of Marduk, and there were certainly enough of both, slave pits and prisoners within them. Their crimes ranged from imagined 'blasphemy' to not being able to pay taxes to real crimes like assault and theft. For that, they were to be slaves to the 'gods', to that illustrous couple beneath the canopy that resided atop the large ziggurat. The heavy hitters apparently, the rapists and murderers, were less lucky than that. Those were left to rot in the sun, in iron cages high above the ground, without food or water.

"What does the Commander plan to do?" he finally asked Riever.  
"We are still assessing our options, but I'd lie if I said we had many at our disposal," he said in all honesty. "Right now we are checking for an escape opportunity. The men are trying to find weak points in the cages," he leaned closer.  
Zech could see that he was right. While the soldiers did look after the civilians, they also made their rounds and checked the walls, the doors, the materials used and their condition.

Their conversation was interrupted when the door to the upper floor was pushed open and a line of Jaffa come marching down, stopping in front of their cell, which in fact was just a large, iron-barred metal cage lit by torches.  
"Bring me those that came through the chappa'ai!" a tall warrior commanded in an imposing baritone. His skin was pale, and a black tattoo adorned his forehead.  
"The great Rustam has ordered you to be questioned again! Step forward, and be brought to justice!"

Slowly, the Maquinnan soldiers stepped in front of the others, their features easily distincted from the rest of the prisoners by the green and brown suits that they had retained. Ishkent Riever also left the professor's side and joined them. The lead Jaffa walked down the lined-up men, looking each into the eyes.  
Apparently the man saw something he did not like in Riever's utterly empty eyes. He barked an order to the others, and of the six, four stepped forward and lowered their staffs, their ends buzzing with the typical sound that indicated those rayguns were now armed. Ishkent Riever's view darted to them just for the brink of a second. The lead 'Jaffa' before him grabbed his staff and swung it into a low curve to knock the Raevan soldier of his feet. Riever's expression never changed. But in the middle of the warrior's swing, the gaunt soldier drove the man's nose bone into his skull with his right hand while his left grabbed the staff and armed it, lowering it against the four grey-clad warriors besides him. The forehead-tattooed man slumped down on the ground, blood shooting from his nose, and fire shooting from Riever's staff, putting a smoldering wound into the next man's chest.

Before they could even react, the other soldiers were on them, turning their lack of arms into an advantage against the clumsiness of the staff weapons in close quarters, taking the Jaffa down in deadly hand to hand combat. The two guards that had stood at attention on the steps to the upper levels rushed to their aid, and a Raevan soldier fell to the ground, killed by an energy bolt. Their advanced was met with fire from their dead comrades' weapons, taking them down.

For a few moments, there an absolute silence reigned in the slave cages, before a wailing of the other prisoners began.  
"What have you done!" "They will kill us all now!" "Gods, have mercy on us!" "Rustam, bless us!"  
A shot from Ishkent Riever's staff weapon silenced them all again.

"You can all die and rot down here, for all I care. But join us, fight with us, and there is a chance you will be free again. Freedom or servitude, it's your choice!" He whirled around and destroyed the locks on the opposite cage, and the other soldiers did the same with the other filled cages.

"Choose!"

xxxxx

He could hear the battle long before he saw it. It was already late afternoon, and against the backdrop of the huge red sun the energy bolts from the Jaffa weapons' looked like angry fireflies to him, converging on the upper platform of the ziggurat where the gate was located, where they had arrived - and where it had all begun. Crawling through the irrigation trenches running parallel to the road that lead away from the temple site, he carefully approached the site of the firefight to take a look before taking action.

Apparently the vanguard of the alien warriors had made it there before him. He called himself a fool for daring to hope otherwise. After all, he had been hiding in the greens while they had the open road for themselves. Still, the vanguard, for whatever fervor its warriors had in their hearts, was stuck on the ground level all around the ziggurat, kneeling and shooting at the pillars and the men between and behind those from the edge of the square. A body clad in the brown and green NBC-suit of the Raevan Army lay sprawling in the middle of the steps, limbs twisted and head turned in a grotesque fashion. He did not have to strain his eyes to see what had killed him, though. The burn marks were easily visible where the energy bolts had eaten through the rubber and composite materials of the protective suit.

Much to his satisfaction, however, more than a dozen grey-armoured bodies accompanied it at the bottom of the steps, and half a dozen more lay silent in a circle the his left where a hand grenade had stopped them from ever being a danger again. Still, while they had obviously become more cautious, their spirits had not been broken. Less could be said for himself. He had clung to the illusion that all would be fine if he just reached the ziggurat and his comrades there.

Still, his frustration changed to anger, then to cold rage as the energy weapon's fire intensified once again. He chose the closest Jaffa. The alien warriors were all occupied with unleashing their weapons against the hardly seen Maquinnans while his comrades did their very best to suppress any Jaffa attempt to storm the steps with aimed automatic fire. The sounds of battle made it impossible for the Jaffa to hear him close in on him. Strong hands grabbed the grey-armoured warrior and yanked his head around with brutal force.

Having broken the man's neck, he pulled the body back into the field, hoping that nobody had noticed his stunt. With the ziggurat in the centre, it was hard to spot him. Then he moved on to the next man and pulled his sidearm from his holster.

The 'Raevan Army Standard Type Six' was a large bore pistol, calibre .48, with a clip holding eight rounds. As with every side arm, even trained marksmen would find it hard to hit moving targets more than twenty paces away, but _within_ those twenty paces the _Type 6_ had a devastating effect even on the armoured staff bearers. The round had a higher portion of lead than the high-speed rifle ammonution had. That meant upon impact the round started to deform as it entered the body. Horrific wounds were the result.

He was less than two metres away from his target away when he pulled the trigger. The Jaffa's face dissolved into a fine, red mist and bits of splintered teeth and bone. Before the man dropped dead to the ground, he had stepped aside. The next Jaffa had been too close to avoid detection. When the warrior turned in surprise to his dead comrade, he was already at him. Before the staff weapon could rise, he had put two rounds into the man's chest, the bullets destroying the vital organs beyond repair.  
Throwing himself around, he evaded an energy bolt at hair's width and emptied the remainder of his rounds into the Jaffa who had unleashed it and went for the now faceless warrior's weapon. Kneeling down, he took aim as fast as he could as now the other Jaffa warriors were becoming aware of his presence. Lightning bolts flashed by his position, accompanied by angry - and surprised - shouts in an alien tongue. He had never had much sympathy for people shooting from the hip, like many a 'hero' in the telescreen dramas was shown doing. And with that clumsy staffs it was testament to the Jaffas' training that they even managed to hit the broadside of a barn shooting those things held like spears. He ignored another flurry of bolts barely missing him and placed the rear end of the weapon over his shoulder, peering down the shaft and carefully levelling it towards the next enemy. The trigger was a simple button, and he closed his eyes in surprise when the energy bolt materialized at the front end. It raced across the square and hit another grey clad warrior in the throat, almost decapitating the man in the process.

In less than a minute he had reduced the remaining Jaffa warriors from twenty to fifteen, and with the suppression barrage against the upper platform gone, the Raevan paratroopers emerged again from their cover, taking advantage of the confusion below. High power rifle bursts cut the grey armoured enemies down, hand grenades tore them to pieces. It was all over in less than two minutes.

xxxxx

The slave pits were a massive complex, three underground levels connected by steps, locked by heavy iron-framed doors. It was place designed to instil despair and desperation into those kept their, and it was nigh impossible for a single person to escape from them, or even contemplate escape. As every prison, it was built to keep people inside, but there were few prisons that took the risk of armed prisoners outside their cells or cages into consideration, and if anything could be said about the Goa'uld, then that they were not exactly eager to go with the times.

Some of the prisoners from their level had joined them, though not many. After they had taken the next level in a raid that would have made any Raevan special ops drill Chief proud, the number of followers had swollen up considerably, especially when the news of their success had reached their level of origin again. Once they stormed the first subterranean level, the flood of unshackled slaves become a burden that slowed their advance and endangered their element of surprise. Their window of opportunity was closing one way or the other, as if would not take the rest of the guards long to realize that one of theirs with explicit orders of their lord and commander had gone missing. That, and they had to take care of their own civilians. Professor Zech Wapasha did relatively well, others... not so much.

At first, Patar Tane had been worried about the risk of infection when they had to hand in their gas masks and water purifying chemicals, but that worry had soon been replaced with the greater task of getting them back home alive.

The upper level of the slave pits was a simple brick building, manned by only a handful of guards. Two Raevan soldiers disguised as Jaffa warriors entered the chambers first. It took the gathered guards a moment to realize they were not looking at their comrades, a moment the paratroopers used to gun them down indiscriminately and to secure the perimeter. It was the first time luck shone down upon them when they found their gear that had conveniently been stored in the anteroom. The Raevan's rapidly got rid of their captured weapons and jumped into their own kits, handing the Jaffa staffs to other prisoners.  
Others were already looting the gun lockers in the guard rooms, coming back with staffs of their own and smaller, greyish handguns. But with the fight momentarily over, nobody did the first step.

Again, it was Ishkent Riever who took the initiative.  
"You can go now, go where ever you want. Hide in the city, hide in the countryside. Or you can come with us. We'll fight our way to the gate, the chappa'ai. Help us, and you can escape to a place the false god can never harm you again!"

He marched outside, where the city of Marduk was still oblivious to the battle that would come.

xxxxx

The activation of the artifact had come unsuspected, and that had been the first hint of trouble Constable Tarvon Comalla had received. In military operations, surprises almost always meant trouble. The activation of the gate from the other side had been scheduled for almost seven hours later, giving the expedition a full day to establish themselves and then report back. Having them dial back now meant that things had gone awry, a feeling that was validated when the first men coming through the gate carried dead and wounded comrades and expedition members.

It took them all some time to tell their tales, time he knew he had to invest to know what he was dealing with, and still it was time during which he did _not_ deal with the foe that had attacked his men. When they had finished, it dawned on Comalla that this would be about more than just trying to rescue some men. It would be a decision about war and peace between worlds.

"What do we do now, Sir?" the man that had escaped all the way from the city back through the artifact asked in a tired, but expectant voice.

"You ask me what we'll do?" he growled impatiently, then determination washed away his anger. "I'll tell you what we'll do, boy: We're going back in - with full force!"


	5. City of Marduk, Part II

_Thought I had given this one up, heh? I am sorry it took me so long, but as you can see, this chapter's exceeding ten pages and I did not feel like splitting it up once more. Think of Troaves a bit like pre-civil war Lebanon without the religious faultlines._

**Chapter 4 - City of Marduk, Part II**

It was a running battle, and they were getting mauled, badly.

Getting out of the prison complex once they had been on the surface had been the easiest part. Apparently, those Jaffa warriors had no wireless communication, and bullets tended to go faster than word of mouth. And there's nothing like catching you off your guard with a couple hundred screaming prisoners come bursting out from down below, plastering you with energy weapons, rocks and bare fists. The surface level was separated from the main palace area by the same kind of wall that surrounded all of it, and it had it's own gatehouse

They had lost people back there, even though none of their own had fallen. Ishkent Riever was no philanthrope, and even though he had no love for slavery the only reason he had liberated those people was to create as large a diversion as possible. But once they had breached the gates, the element of surprise was ultimately gone.

Night had come, turning the streets of Marduk into a torchlighted twilight.

The first larger fire fight had occurred right in front of the main gates to the palace, where two dozen Jaffa had taken up position on the walls and reigned down energy bolts on the fleeing prisoners. The Raevans and some incited locals had taken up positions on the opposite side of the square, and before much time had passed, dead and dying people littered the walls, the square and the Raevan positions, reducing the number of surviving Raevan soldiers to seven. There was no place for sentimentality, though. They all were professionals, and they all had seen comrades die before. The dead man was stripped of his gear, and they moved on, deeper into the city, always pursued by a stream of Jaffa warriors pouring from the palace gates that seemed to find no end.

Many of those that had fled with them had scattered into the dark streets once the palace gates had been past them, but a hard core of armed prisoners and their families had formed around them. Fifty people armed with guns and staff weapons were a good insurance to keep any Jaffa attack at bay. If you used your terrain wisely, superior numbers could not bring their full weight into a battle. That was true especially for urban combat, something the 4th had learned dire lessons in during the failed Troavian operation. They could hold them off that way once or twice, but the disadvantages they suffered were plainly obvious: those Jaffa knew the city better than they did. Twice they had almost been encircled. Patar Tane knew they could have made a far better pace without the civilians, but unlike his friend Ishkent he now considered them his responsibility and not just tactical maneuvering mass to be expended.

After the last shootout he had decided to make a run for it. They set fire to carts in the streets, to empty marketeers' stalls, to heaps of hay, to everything they could find between them and the Jaffa while simultaneously putting out and destroying the torches that lit the streets, thus trying to put a zone of fire and a zone of darkness between them and their pursuers. It was far from a perfect measure, but every obstacle they created was one the enemy would have to destroy or evade, giving them time, if not much of it, time Patar Tane and Ishkent Riever used to lay traps of their own for the pursuing forces.

With fire between them and chaos spreading from panicking smallfolk and people trying to save their property and livelyhood, the Jaffa troops had to split up to follow them through the now darkened streets and narrow roads. Chief Nanook was taking the civilians and a third of the armed ex-prisoners closer to the city gates. Tane and Riever had other plans. Accompanied by one soldier and groups of twentyfive or more armed men, both hurriedly prepared ambushes along the routes they thought the Jaffa would have to take. The night was their friend, most likely the only friend they had in this fight.

They waited, silent and ducked behind makeshift barricades of carts and tables and barrels and firewood. It had taken the Raevan's some time to explain to the locals that they had to aim with their staff weapons to actually hit anything.

"Popular belief seems to have been", Chuck had explained, "that the gods themselves give power to those weapons and strike were they intend to strike."

By now, most had adopted a firing stance where they pressed the staff closely under their arms, peering along its length to get a chance to hit anything, which was in any way better than the thunderous shooting from the hip the Jaffa seemed to prefer. They were not stupid. Less developed than Maquinnans, yes, but not stupid, and they had proven to be a dedicated and adaptive lot. That respect they had earned themselves also was a reason Patar Tane would not abandon them. The escapees did not have to wait long for the Jaffa to make their appearence. They heard them before they saw them, moving up the cobblestone street with their stomping steps in the glow of two torches, one bore by the lead Jaffa, a man christened with a forehead tattoo that the Maquinnan soldiers had come to identify as the Jaffa way of rank insignias.

He moved into the middle of the square and took a look around, the torchlight throwing moving shadows across the houses' walls, creating shapes where none existed. The Jaffa's eyes were adapted to the torchlight, the ambushers' ones to the darkness of the night. They waited patiently until the enemy group leader had ordered his men into the square, yelling 'Jaffa! Kree!', before they gunned him down, three energy bolts from different directions impacting almost simultaneously on the man. It was butchery, but butchery done with a glee and hot revenge only lifelong humiliation could have born.

After a few minutes, those two simultaneously happening fire fights were over, and Ishkent Riever mused with a cold grin that after a wall of fire and a wall of darkness, they now had put a wall of bodies to their line of defenses.

Following the fleeing civilians - every Raevan soldier and every fighting man now carried more weapons then he could use - Tane had the men use their head start by darting into adjactent streets and putting out the torches there as well while their ad hoc company moved closer to the gates. After a while, they had to pause to gather breath, and they made camp on one of those smaller ziggurats the more wealthy citizens of Marduk often owned.

Chaos reigned in the city, and while half the population was too scared to open their doors, the other half had taken up the opportunity to settle some old scores. Fires were raging in several districts of Marduk, and plundering mobs were on the move. It all made the impression of a cooking pot in which too much steam pressure had had built up for far too long a time. Who ever would win tonight's fight, Rustam would loose it. Not that this knowledge would do Tane any good at the moment. Direct deity worship usually only worked as long as that 'god' could keep his people safe - and in line. On the other hand, he would undoubtedly come down hard on the innocents of Marduk. Patar Tane wished he could do anything about that, but staying alive had priority at the moment. Rest, stay alive, go home again.

The men that had voluntarily joined his command had taken up positions on all levels of the hollow ziggurat, and had sealed off the street, placing guards on nearby roofs. They were no soldiers, most of them had never even swung a weapon in earnest before today, but they were a ressourceful lot - and they had made their beds. For them, there was no going back. Behind him, there were muffled screams within the ziggurat. Ishkent Riever stepped besides him and sat down on the floor of the second level.

"What's happening?"

"They are taking the house apart," the empty-eyed man explained evenly. "Food, water, cloth for bandages, furniture for litters for our wounded. I told them not to kill the inhabitants, but I doubt they'll be very grateful to a family that prospers of the very circumstances that got most of our new 'allies' into this mess in the first place," Riever shrugged and stretched his legs, stifling a yawn.

"I'm not exactly a friend of rape and pillage, Ishkent," Tane said sharply, only earning himself a mild smile from Riever, which made him look all the more creepy.

"That much I know. I told them I'd nail their manhood to the door if they tried to rape the women, well, as much as I _can_ tell them anything. Even my classic is rusty, you know...," his voice trailed off as he looked into the night, taking deep, controlled breaths. Tane sat down beside him.

"Well, a bit like Troaves, don't you think so?"

"Worse than Troaves," Riever shrugged. "There we at least had the faint hope that 5th Fleet would send us air support somehow. Not much of a chance of that here," he frowned.

Tane sighed.

"Well, at least here we know who we have to shoot. In Troaves, that was hardly ever the case. You remember that waitress?"

"The one in the cornershop milkbar halfway downtown?" Riever scowled. "Yes, I do. Jiggu went inside that place, trying to set off a call to the embassy. She was all nice to him, hell, even made him a _graggin_' milkshake. And half a minute later she blasts the boy's brains out."

"Well, we made sure she never made milkshakes again," Tane responded quietly.

They had shot the place all to hell, twenty men with automatic weapons unloading into a milkbar. It had been surreal, so strange that they had all doubted if it had really happened. But then the whole intervention had turned into a surreal nightmare, a _gragg_-up of epic proportions in a city where there was fighting in one street, and men and women drinking coffee in inner-city cafés in the next, and where the enemy could be everyone, and everywhere.

And now they had stepped right into the next nightmare.

"Time to get moving again," Tane sighed and rose. "Everybody, pack up, we're leaving." He turned to Ishkent. "Go inside and see that the inhabitants are all bound if our allies haven't seen to that already."

His subordinate officer just nodded, grabbing his gear.

"Wouldn't do us any good if they ran straight to the Jaffa once we left, no would it?" he stepped through the door to the second floor, emerging only a few moments later again together with a dozen men.

"They are done in there," he looked Tane in the eye. "There's nobody to be bound."

Patar Tane's mouth tightened as he looked the men over. They looked content, almost peaceful. He hoped the people did not have to suffer too long.

"We move, let's go."

xxxxx

The last twentyfour hours had been pure hell for all of them, Zech Wapasha mused as he caught his breath, jogging along with the other civilians lead by Chief Nanook. None of the Maquinnans had put on their gas masks again. Whatever diseases one could get on Enheduana, it was much more likely to get them in a place riddled with sickness and weak bodies like the dungeons than in the middle of the cool night air on an empty street in Marduk. What little time to rest they had he had tried to spend with his colleagues or those among the prisoners who seemed to be the accepted community leaders. Surprisingly, the locals, even though they were frightened almost as much by their own newfound courage as by the pursuing Jaffa, endured the situation a lot better than the Raevan academics.

They had women and children with them, and with the lights put out they had not been able to keep up the pace the Chief had envisioned. Still, every step brought them a pace closer to freedom.

Their capture and their escape had made finding a common base of understanding a dire need. Enhur was a year younger than him, but years working in the drains and on the fields had made him gaunt and leathery. His hair was still thick and had only a few strains of grey, but half his teeth were missing. He had been a village councilour a four days voyage to the north of Marduk, until by chance he had stumbled into the middle of a patrol of Jaffa hunting some fugitives and caught an energy bolt that cost him his left arm. He had had the courage to complain about that, which had earned him and his family an express ticket to the slave pits.

His vigilance and steadfastness had soon gained him the respect of many others down in the pits, and by now he functioned like some kind of unelected but undisputed community leader. Unable to fight with just one arm left, he had stayed with the group that directly went towards the city gates.

As they were proceeding not at running speed but at best in a fast walking pace, Chuck and Hemi and the other scientists had pushed back their shock and apathy and had thrown themselves back into work as good as they could manage to.

"And who are those _Goa'uld_, Enhur?" he had trouble pronouncing the alien name.

"Well, they are the Gods, Zech Wapasha. Rustam is a Goa'uld, as is Shala, his mother, whom we honour as the Goddess of Grain. They rule from atop the Great Ziggurat since Ishkur, the Stormgod, went to the heavens."

Ishkur, there was that cursed name again. In case they ever made it back home alive, that would cause considerable problems if it ever surfaced above the layer of military secrecy.

Enhure spat out.

"But between the two of us, Zech Wapasha, that's a big load of horse dung. I've known peasants who prayed all their life, and others who only pretended to prey when they could be seen in public but never spared a thought on it any other time, and for both the crops grew. The rain fell for both of them, and when storm came, the believers were not spared."

He pointed at one of the armed fugitives that lead the van together with Chief Nanook.

"They also taught us the Jaffa were invincible because they carried the children of the gods in their bellies, but today I have seen dozens of Jaffa die at the hands of strangers and ordinary people that were doomed to slavery."

"You speak well for a peasant, Enhur."

Enhur nodded in acknowledgement.

"My father taught me to think things through, and to only speak when the word are worth to be uttered, Zech Wapasha."

"Then he was a wise man.

"If we make it," Enhur replied gloomily before barking a sudden laughter. "And if not, this will be a day Marduk will not forget, not when all Seven Hells freeze over!"

A Raevan soldier appeared from the twilight in front of them and fell in besides Zech Wapasha.

"We're three blocks away from the main gates, professor. The Chief will rest here until Commander Tane catches up with us."

"Good, I'll tell the others. Enhur, we -."

The local had grabbed him by the arm and showed an alarmed face.

"Something's wrong... ."

"Why, what do you mean?"

"Hush, silence!"

Zech held his breath while everybody was perking their ears. There was a thin, faint whine being carried with the cool nighttime breeze. Enhur's eyes widened.

"Deathgliders! Run!"

The jetcraft raced past their heads almost simultaneously with Enhur's cry, unleashing energy bolts from mounted weaponry several times more powerful than the staff weapons they had witnessed so far. Debris and crud erupted from the spots where their shots struck, small blastwaves knocking people off their feet. The people, most of them women and children and elders, dashed into the nearby houses or sought shelter beneath what they could find on the road. With enemy fire impacting right between them, what little cover darkness had provided for them was also gone.

"We're far too exposed!" the soldier yelled at him through the turmoil, pointing towards one of the houses.

People scattered left and right, their silent escape turned into a panicked flight once more as they tried to get off the streets, out of sight of the 'deathgliders'.

A flurry of energy bolts darted into the air from the east, and he saw Patar Tane and his men dash around a corner.

"Three! Together!" he yelled. "Three! Together!"

His accent was horrible, but the men running with him understood what he wanted from them. They took up positions in teams of three, closely together, and started firing their staff weapons simultaneously at where they thought the deathgliders would be. The smoke rising from the dozens of fires made it hard to make out any shapes in the sky. And another sound was following them, the sound of marching Jaffa warriors. They were more easily seen, something hardly meant to cheer him up. Coming in from three sides in tight-closed ranks, the grey-armoured silhouettes of the alien warriors glimmered gloomily in the light of a hundred fires.

"Barricades! Barricade the _graggin_' streets!" Riever yelled. "Take what you can and block those damn roads!"

There was not much to work with, and they soon had to abandon that, too. There was no way to create any kind of useful barricade while close lines of Jaffa were smothering them with increasingly accurate fire. They fled to the houses and doorways instead, using what makeshift cover they had at their disposal. Again and again, Jaffa warriors fell from bullets and staff weapon blasts, but instead of faltering, their lines simply stopped, regrouped and slowly continued their advance.

"I'm out," Tane looked down at his rifle with resignation. "That was my last clip, and my last round." Ishkent Riever had shouldered his rifle already some time again and now handed him a staff weapon. The pale man rubbed his hands clean, then grabbed Tane's hand and shook it.

"It's always been an honour serving under your command, Sir."

"We'll take a couple more of them with us before we're done here," Tane promised grimly.

For a few seconds, nobody spoke a word. The only audible sounds were the crackling fires, the howling wind they sucked in, and the footstomps the Jaffa made, coming closer to their last holdout. There were several hundred people in those house, probably even more. Nobody had ever had the time or idea to count them. They would give the Jaffa and their self-proclaimed 'God' hell, he was sure. And they would die. They all would die.

Tane glanced around the corner. The road was bathed in torchlight, and close lines of Jaffa, their staff weapons levelled, were marching towards them. On the other side of the square, the picture was the same, as with the road leading to the gate from the south. They were trapped.

"Shame we have no grenades left."

"Yes, a shame," Riever muttered, before climbing up the steps of the ladder again, his head looking out the flat-top roof at the barred gates. A triple line of Jaffa guarded them, and there were more on the walls. "A real shame."

High above their heads, the deathgliders kept buzzing by, strafing their positions with inaccurate, but continuous fire now that the Jaffa had encircled them. After their last attack none of the men had any illusions left that those aircrafts could be brought down with the staff weapons they possessed. The fire in the houses along the streets now burned bright enough for the people on the ground to be able to make out the silhouettes of the gliders in the sky. The increasing howling in the air was a clear sign that they were diving down towards them again. Tane shot his last magnesium flare into the sky, where in briefly illuminated the outlines of a glider racing downwards before it started to fall down, too, but far more slowly than the jetpowered craft.

This time, they were coming down on the square head-on, their onboard weaponry starting to spit energy bolts from high above. Suddenly, there was a single, loud clanging. One deathglider rocked off course and ignited in a veritable fireball. Before anybody could react, the blastwave reached the ground, pressing people to the floor, forcing the Jaffa to stagger back, the lines behind them crashing into those that fell back. The noise was ear-shattering – but it was like the silence of a remote lake in a forest compared to the blast that followed.

Ishkent Riever had been back at the ladder, peering out the opening, when he saw the whole gate complex rock and heave before it disintegrated in the flash of an explosion that threw him down the ladder and flattened the brick houses closest to the city gates. Stunned, the men watched the magnitude of the destruction after the blastwave had raced past.

Tane was among the first to emerge from his cover. Shielding his head with both his hands against the debris in the sky, he stepped into the street and had to swallow. Brick and wood and Jaffas (and things that looked like _parts_ of Jaffas) still kept falling out of the sky. The gate house and twenty feet of the city walls on both its sides was simply gone, evaporated. The houses the closest to it had been pushed together like tin cans. There were dead people everywhere, most of them Jaffa. The road to the gate was full of them, piled upon each other, thrown against walls and onto flat roofs like rag dolls. The solid outer walls of the houses here had served like a channel, compressing the blastwave on ground level into this direction. Of the Jaffa on the gate and the walls there was no sign at all.

Further away from the gates, on the square where the fugitives had been bottled up, the effects had been less devastative. Most people were still shocked and pinned to the ground, but most of those he could see were at least still moving. The Jaffa advanced from the other directions also had stopped. The scenery had something surreal to it, Tane mused as his view raced across the destruction and the burning city in the background. And it was quiet, very peaceful.

It was not until Banner Bearer Qillaq Anaru pulled him back inside, his mouth opening and closing, that he realized that the explosion had knocked out his hearing. Anaru pointed into the sky, where two new deathgliders had appeared and where starting their attack run. Just as they kept closing in again, his hearing gradually started to return.

Even the usually so cold and empty-eyed man seemed shaken by the massive blast, but he pointed outside again.

"There are people at the breach!"

Indeed, there were. Dark shapes were crawling all over the ruined walls, dozens of them, moving back, forth, spreading out into the streets running parallel to the walls, climbing unto the roofs of those houses the blastwave had not completely levelled. It was impossible to make out more than silhouettes in all the chaos, dust and smoke.

But then the familiar sound of gunfire reached them first. The automatic four-rounds staccato of the ASR-11 was unique, each of the Raevan soldiers would have recognized it no matter the time and place. There were men now atop the walls, angry muzzle flashes piercing through the smoke. And other sounds became audible now, too. Deathgliders danced around explosions in the sky now, evading the red and white plumes gracefully, even though it reminded Tane of the moves of a dancer that was confronted with an unfamiliar melody.

Then, angry fire bees hammered into the westwards approaching line of Jaffa, drowned by a sound resembling a petrol driven buzz saw.

What had been a very disciplined force only moments before despite all the losses it had taken now disintegrated faster than one could say 'machinegun massacre'. Tracer rounds marked the lines of fire of what Tane guessed were two machinegun teams in exposed positions. To add insult to injury and the crowning harmony to the ongoing destructive symphony, the dull thud and whine of incoming mortar fire joined the mix.

Tane grabbed the men around him and pushed them out of the door.

"Move it! Gather everybody you can find, we just got our ticket home!"

Chaos reigned outside on both sides, the locals that had fled with them being just as frightened by the new participants in their splendid little war as they were by the Jaffa. Riever caught one of the scientists and hurried him to make the people follow them.

In the skies above the dance of the deathgliders had become a lot more frantic. The fire of what Riever assumed were recoilless rifles using proximity fuses was getting more accurate, more used to the 'gliders swift turns.

There was still sporadic fire coming from the Jaffa positions, with energy bolts impacting here and there in the square and against formerly white house walls, where the impacts tore craters and blackened the baked clay beneath.

The leaders of the fugitives had now gotten the word out and were driving their people towards the had-been gates. Tane had to grimace at the sight of them. 'So many!' he thought. 'I never thought there were so many of them.'

'Chuck' appeared right besides him, carrying two small children on his arms while a woman was holding up a man with a broken foot.

"Are those ours?" he asked, breathing hard.

That kind of possessive speech regarding soldiers did not fit the card carrying New Way man at all, but Tane bit down a derisive remark and nodded. Peaceful political ideology hardly ever survived the first contact with an enemy who shot more than just phrases at you. He stopped a couple of locals that were running towards the gates and fetched the children from Chuck's arms and placing them in their, then motioning them to move on, yelling 'carry! carry!' despite Chuck's protests.

"You cannot just give them away!"

"Boy-!"

"It's 'Doctor'!"

"Doctor-boy, we have to look for our own!" he pulled him closer by his sleeve. "This is far from being over. It's still two _graggin_' hours to the gate. So fetch your gear, help your colleagues, and _follow my orders_, _boy_!"

He pushed him away, not looking whether he was actually doing what he had been told to do.

Tane's eyes followed the young woman who had taken up one of the two children, against the protests of Chuck _and_ the children's mother. He remembered the young woman with the infant babe on her arm, three years ago in Troaves.

That had been before the botched intervention, but he and a select group of others had been sent to monitor events in the failing nation by MilSec and The Lurker by then, supplying the people back home with their estimates of the situation and recommendations for action. Troavs itself, the city, had been a haven of peace back then, even though there was the occasional car bomb, and even though far less good things could be said about the situation in the countryside of the island nation.

It had been the fifth month of the year, a sunny weekday in Troaves. He had been studying the morning newspapers in a roadside café; knowing what was being written - and not written - had proven to be a good indicator of things to come. The road had been one of the wider ones in Troaves' historical center. That particular young woman had stepped on a tram, curly hair, nice blue woolen coat. He had not payed her particular mind, but he had liked the bright coat's colour.

She had hidden the explosives beneath that coat, he had learned two days later from the very same newspapers: twenty pounds of home-made dynamite. The blast had been strong enough to knock him off his chair twohundred paces away from the detonation and hurl glass and metal splinters across the lively street like shrapnell. A K-Group whacko, a suicide commando killing herself, her baby, and sixteen others.

"Strange connections your brain makes," he muttered to himself.

Riever was pushing people left and right, driving them towards the gates, as did the rest of his original team. By now, the road towards the emptyness, no, the crater where the former gate had been, was crowded with people. Those few Jaffa that had survived the effects of the blastwave were now simply being trampled to death. Who still had not found himself a staff weapon before now had ample opportunity to grab one. It was like marching through a mass grave and brought up ugly associations with pictures shot during the last war, the 'Great War'. The only thing 'great' about that one had been the sheer amount of death and carnage. Technology had leapfrogged, true, but seventy million dead were a high price for technological advancement...

Chuck reappeared, leading Zyanya Aylen by his arm. The lone female team member had not taken the past days' experience too well. Her eyes were red from crying, and her view was unsteady. Still, the prospect of being rescued had given her back a bit of her strength, and she presented a weak smile.

"We are the last ones," he yelled over the noise of battle.

Tane nodded with satisfaction and motioned him to go on. At this moment, two energy bolts struck the scientist and threw him around like a leaf. Tane and Riever whirled around, but the only Jaffa to be seen were those pinned down by machinegun fire in the adjactent streets.

"_Graggin_' freak hit," Riever cursed, bowing down to Chuck. "He's still alive," he reported.

The one to the head had luckily been a graze shot, even though the area on the side of his left eye was horrible burned. The leg, however, looked worse. The energy bolt had burned itself deep through composite materials, flesh and bone, leaving a throbbing open wound. Without a word, Riever handed Tane his rifle and pick up the unconcious man. There was no need for words. They would not let somebody behind if he was still alive. Not even petulant, anti-military _graggers_ like Chuck Antiman.

Zyanya Aylen had begun to cry again. There was no time for subtlety; Tane grabbed her by the arm and pulled her towards the gate. It was time to leave this place.

xxxxx

Constable Tarvon Comalla was standing atop an 'Omob', watching the city of Marduk through a set of nightvision googles he had to hold up with both his hands. His men had finally been successful in downing one of those jets. The other two had taking their heels into their hands, both trailing smoke behind them.

There were still people coming from the city, though fewer now than at the beginning. They were all heading towards the gate, together with the men of the 4th. The machinegun teams had joined them again. Tane and Riever and a couple of the civilians had been the last of his own. One of those had been hurt badly and now rested on the Omob while it drove at the end of the column towards the gate.

His mortar teams, one team consisting of four men each, walked besides his Omob at a fast pace.

"At the next clearing, set up your gear again and fog the road behind us," he commanded them.

There was no need to let all Omobs drive at the end of their column. The road was not wide enough to have two go besides each other, which would have been the only useful application there could have been for them: using their mounted weapons for covering fire. He had brought five of the tough and versatile automobiles through the gate. Of all the weapons in Raeva's arsenal, this plain vehicle was probably among the best. Lightweight, air-deployable, amphibious, up to a hundred kilometres per hour fast, the 'Omni-Automobile', or short, Omobs, to many a Raevan soldier was worth its weight in gold. Also, the Omobs could be equipped with mission-specific gear in short time. Of his five, three had mounted machineguns while two carried 76mm recoilless rifles. There were other possible variants: an anti-tank version using a longer-barrelled version of the recoilless rifle; a wired-guided anti-tank missile carrier; a mortar carrier; anti-aircraft versions, either equipped with a single thermo-guided missile or with twin machineguns. And a dozen more were certainly possible.

Aside from practical concerns, the Omobs' prime task now was getting the most heavily wounded of that band of fugitives to the gate, _through_ the gate and into medical care.

Twice, those aliens had appeared in the distance, and twice the buzzsaw sound of the machinegun had roared, sending them back again, but for all intents and purposes, their return to the gate was less of a rout than he had feared. He waited until most of the others had gone through.

"Place charges all around it," he commanded the remaining soldiers. "I want this thing to be gone in ten minutes."

He knew enough of the material to understand composite explosives would not even dent the artifact itself, but with the amount of explosives his men would plant they would at least blast the ziggurat to kingdom come. Having done what he had come to do, he stepped through the glowing orb of the heaven's gate.

Early afternoon sun greeted him on the other side, back home. The area in front of the gate was clustered with medical personnel, soldiers and refugees. Behind him, the demolition team stepped through the gate, and the glowing orb vanished.

"Damn it, this will be hard to keep secret. Thank the gods we're at the ass end of nowhere here," Constable Comalla muttered to himself before turning to the men around him. "Make certain those people are seen to."

xxxxx

**A-Day +2 (two days after first gate activation)**

Tane, Riever and Wapasha had come for a debriefing again. It had been the fourth time during the past two days, but there seemed to be no end to the new information they had gathered, and what they had gathered was deeply troubling. On the plus side, they had rescued a thousand people from slavery and death, and the doctors were certain that most of the wounded could be cured. Chuck Antiman was the most prominent casualty right now. He had undergone his second surgery today. In time, he would get back on his feet, well, foot. Comalla winced at his choice of words. Chuck Antiman's leg could not have been saved. As had been the case with others' lifes. Of the twenty soldiers and eight scientists that had initially gone through the gate, eight soldiers and seven scientists had survived. How to handle their death, what cover story to use, these issues also had been part of their discussion.

When they were gone, Tarvon Comalla stared out of his window for a long time. Outside, the camp town for the refugees from Enheduana was growing behind a wire fence, and pioneers were busy digging up positions for pillboxes while a crane was hoisting the artifact from its socket. He remembered the first briefing for the operation, back in Ishkar, and wanted nothing so bad as punch the High Constable in the face.

"Damn short sighted bastard," he muttered.

Unqas Cicali had never taken the project seriously. For him it had been a useful means to remove a political opponent from the fine fabric of High Command, and nothing more. Tarvon doubted the man had ever realized that a true chance had existed from the very start that 'Project: Heaven's Gate' would work once archeology and engineering had been married. And now, what had started as a political ploy had turned into a war between worlds.

He looked back at the original orders on his desk and the folder lined in yellow script that read 'National Security', and a hesitant smile crept on his face. He would have to make a number of telephone calls to some old friends. But first, one other telephone call had to be made. He picked up the receiver.

"I need a secure line to The Lurker."

A placid female voice answered him from the other end of the line, demanding a security clearance. Tarvon rattled down a sixteen-figured alpha-numerical code, and there was an audible 'click' in the line.

"Yes?" a dark, male voice demanded.

"Whom am I talking to?" he asked in return. There was a pause at the other end before the speaker continued.

"Your security clearance is not high enough for that information," he informed Tarvon cooly. "What do you want?"

"I need an interrogation team, preferably two. I have what you would call 'special prisoners' at the base with vital information."

"Don't you have people of your own for that? We don't do those things to every guy found trying to sneak into a base." It did not sound annoyed, merely factual.

"I do have men for the usual 'Good cop, bad cop'-routine, but what we are dealing with is not that kind of situation. I need specialists, and I need them to have access to all their 'special' toys."

"What kind of prisoners could you have on a remote airbase in Rikara that demand the presence of my men?" the voice now sounded curious.

"I'm sorry, but now I fear for that _your_ security clearance is not high enough," Tarvon had to stifle a chuckle while he looked down at the folder on his desk. Again, there was a stretching moment of silence in the line before the other man spoke again.

"Fine. I'll see who is available at the moment. When-"

"Northern Airbase, Ishkar, in four hours. Send me who you have till then. A transport plane to Milkwater Base will be ready."

"...good," was all the other responded to that, and Tarvon put down the receiver again. That would get ugly for his prisoners, very ugly. But after what his men and those people had endured, his pity was kept in pretty tight limits. And he was not going to spend it on Jaffa warriors.

_Note: '_The Lurker_' is the term used by most government employees for the Raevan secret service. It's your typical Cold War secret agency that basically does what it does without really listening to anybody, parliamentary oversight the least of all, and would fight to propel Raevan interests with their cloak and dagger means even if the governments of the world would declare world peace tomorrow. For all intents and purposes, they are a state within the state, coming with all the nastiness one could expect from such a Cold War setting._

short: **The Great War**

If you want so, the Maquinnan equivalent of Earth's WW1 & WW2, a war spanning all continents, lasting fifteen years in its entirity. Like IRL, it was not one single war, but many wars overlapping, merging, some being over during the first three years, others raging on for the entirity of the whole one and a half decades. It saw the end of constitutional monarchic rule in Raeva, saw the formation of the _Cooperative_ and shattered the latest Nieman city confederation, those making the post-war world a level playing field for Raeva and the _Coops_. The pre-war state of technology was comparable to 1916, but during the hostilities it increased significantly, with the technology at the start of the postwar age being roughly at the level of 1948. Wartime saw the development (and deployment) of toxic gas, later early nerve gas, early missile technology and early nuclear technology. Before the cessation of hostilities, six nuclear strikes took place on Maquinna (four actual combat strikes, two tests), two of them against targets in and around the area of the Gap of Mundaneere.

During the whole fifteen years, seventy million people died, half of them non-combattants.


	6. Excursus: A Short History of the World

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**Excursus: A Small Background History of the World**

Dates given as approximations to the Ta'uri calendar

Taken from "_A Complete History of the World, Volume II: The Long Night Ends_" by Dr. Giergan Manishar

"_...It is quite surprising how much information was able to be revealed about the centuries now commonly labelled The Long Night by all peoples of the world. While no written records exist from the interregnum between the 'Pre-Classic Era' and the 'Progenitor Era', The Long Night saw the first wave of human colonization reach out from Niemas towards all corners of Maquinna, when wave upon wave of refugees fled the collapse of the old order that consumed the equatorial city states at the birthplace of our civilization. As no records have survived these turbulent times, we are doomed to face this first fall of civilization by the records told by bones and ashes alone. Modern archaeology has been able to date human remains using the C-14 method with stunning accuracy, and the only other instance in our common history as a species of an occurrence of so high a casualty ratio inflicted on the general populace as found during the first two centuries of The Long Night is during the height of the Great War. Violent death, malnutrition and disease became more common reasons of mortality than any others during the prolonged civilizational break-down, with scientists having unearthed a disturbingly large amount of mass graves dating back to these dark centuries. _

_What urban and controlled life may have had existed in the lost times predating The Long Night effectively ended there. Indeed, it seems, had it not been for the explorers of that age, war and famine in Niemas would have consumed all of our species, and the chapter of creation containing a sentient and sapient race would had to be closed again. _

_We nowadays date the beginning of the 'classical era' roughly to the late fifth century of 'The Long Night'. City states established themselves on the outlying islands off the coast of Niemas; close enough to still keep the memory of the central continent, but far away enough to no longer suffer from or be endangered by its turmoil. Grown in size by rich fishing grounds and safe harvests and grown wealthy by trade amongst each other by galleys and swift sailing ships, these proto-nations started to extend their reach back inlands, exporting back their excess populations to what effectively were their places of origin. These mercantile confederations and kingdoms ultimately set the stage for civilization as we know it._"

**1) Pre-Classical Era (ca. 3,500 – 2,500 BC)**

The pre-classic era begins with the abduction and placement of humans on Maquinna through the goa'uld and ends at the time of the rebellion against them. The goa'uld Marduk transplanted about 20,000 humans from the proto-Sumerian civilization in the fertile crescent to Maquinna (central Niemas) to mine for Naquadah, leaving the administration of the planet in the hands of a young, lower goa'uld named Ishkur, thus sparing the humans of his insane brutality except for on high holidays when he visited the planet to feast on torturous manhunts, human sacrifice and random killings. This happened around the year 3,500 BC. Given the fertile lands and agreeable climate along the warm ocean currents of that part of Niemas, the human population quickly grew in size during the following centuries, expanding beyond their original settlements and forming their early civilization around the worship of Ishkur, and soon thereafter also of Ereshkigal, the "Black Blossom", whom he married around 2,700 BC, a young female goa'uld who styled herself after the Sumerian goddess of the Underworld. Around the year 2,500 BC, however, Maquinna overthrew its goa'uld masters, the rebellion using the local leadership's weakness following the disappearance of Marduk. The "Heaven's Gate", situated at Ereshkigal's own palace, was torn down and buried to prevent the goa'uld from ever enslaving the people again while Ishkur was off-planet. Ereshkigal herself was trapped in a largely depleted naquadah mine with several loyalists. While they died one after another, she escaped death by entering a state of hibernation in a canopy jar just before her host body died.

Even though this era encompasses a long period of settlement and growth until it came to its abrupt end through the revolution against the goa'uld rule, few remains have been found and been able to be categorized as belonging to this era. Naquadah also left the public consciousness at that time, owed to the fact that most known mines had reached the point of depletion and that the civilization existent at that time on Maquinna was of a too low level of technology to make use of the mineral. The thorough devastations of the Long Night as well as clay bricks and wood being the main means of construction in settlement areas with high humidity have left little behind. It also seems as if there were repercussions against a wide spread of the abilities to read and write, explaining why so little in the way of glyphs has been found even in what can be designated as the central settled regions of the time. What has been found, however, indicates that along the river plains and fertile hills of central Niemas the population must have grown to a number in excess of ten million people. The information presented above has been carefully pieced together from a multitude of off-world sources and is repeated here to the best knowledge of the involved scientific community at this point of time.

**2.) The Long Night (ca. 2,500 – 1,600 BC)**

A time of massive social upheaval and almost complete social breakdown lasting, depending on who is affected, between 450 to 900 years. Civilization on Niemas descended into brutal civil war between goa'uld loyalists and rebel forces. After a few years, social order and any coherent front line dissolved as harvests had not been brought in, fishing boats had been destroyed and famine and pestilence scoured the land. Formerly wealthy towns and villages descended into anarchy, apocalyptic and cannibalistic cults emerged and various loosely organized factions waged wars for resources, sacrifices and land for the next decades and centuries, many of them styling themselves after the goa'uld. At the point of the lowest low, global population must have been less than a million people on an area as large as ten million square miles. Trying to escape the mayhem, groups of refugees and settlers escaped to the off-coast island chains of Niemas which had been not or only scarcely inhabited before. Cut off from the constant warfare and protected by the oceans – and soon thereafter, fleets of galleys – those new city states began to prosper, exploring the seas, colonizing many islands, soon thereafter setting the stage for the new empires.

It is generally agreed that 'The Long Night' ended once those new mercantile nations had amassed too much excess population and wealth to be confined to their home islands and decided to re-colonize the mainland.

**3.) The Progenitor Era (ca. 1,600 – 900 BC)**

Largely given its name due to the large-scale seeding of the human civilization over all of Niemas, most outlying island groups and the first of the greater islands – Lythragon -, the 'Progenitor Era' is marked a significant growth in wealth, in knowledge and in the fields of art of philosophy, with the first schools being established and the first standardized alphabets appearing that distinguish themselves from the old goa'uld glyph system. Most of the knowledge of the past, however, has been lost during 'The Long Night', and is only still passed on in the form of myths and legends. There have been at least 27 city states and early city state confederations that nowadays are considered members of this group, making the process of re-settlement and the subjugation of the 'native' populations and feuding factions one of immense plurality regarding the different involved cultures who very often evolved into very distinct entities during the Long Night. While the existence of a shared original language is still rather easily traceable at that point, the independent alphabets and scripts developed in the meantime are evidence of the emergence of distinct regional cultures.

On Niemas itself, the most prominent memory of the old age was apparent in the Brotherhood of the Priests of Ishkur, a religious group styling themselves after the goa'uld and propagating a belief in the "God Ishkur". They were, regarding the remaining factions on Niemas itself, one of the more powerful ones, and had believers in all of the remaining factions. Once the process of re-colonization started, however, they soon found themselves overpowered by the colonizers, the "Progenitors". Two-hundred years into the Progenitor Era, eighteen loosely allied groups of mercantile settler/colonizer societies evolved, with a nineteenth having established itself successfully unbeknownst to the others on the rocky main island of Lythragon. The power of the original indigenous factions on Niemas by that time had been broken, the "Brotherhood" had been marginalized. Given that the landmass of Niemas was far from having been wholly claimed at that time, piracy and intra-state strife were what posed the greatest threats during the first half of the era, related to us very vividly by Tipene the Elder in his 'Account of the Forty-Eight Plots' made against the throne of a single city state in a time of less than a hundred years.

The second half of the era is marked by two subsequent waves of colonization that end up settling and claiming most of the formerly empty parts of Niemas, including fur- and large fish-hunting stations close to both polar regions. It also marks the beginning of wars between the various coalitions that will dominate the time between 1,200 BC and 900 BC. Philosophically and theologically it also designates the centuries in which most of the dominating ideas and concepts for the coming millennia are developed and formulated, including the heliocentric world view as well as – ironically – the sun-based Trinitarian majority religion nowadays practiced in Raeva and the Cooperative.

The increasingly long periods of warfare on the central continent, largely financed through from the safety of the island-bound city states, lead to large alliances among the involved city state confederations, with the more powerful of them slowly co-opting those the closest to them until the peripheral allies started merging with the center. During this sporadic and originally unintended process, the first stages of the new empires that soon would dominate the coming era were set, the increasing cooperation demanding unified sets of currencies and laws among the alliances. As there were simply more resources on the mainland as there were on the comparably small Progenitor islands, the center of power also began to re-shift in favor of settlements on the continent.

At the end of this process four increasingly unified Empires emerged as dominant powers, even though they were still internally very heterogeneous, considering their belief systems, cultural traditions and languages. Those are the _Theotarchy of Monohap_ (a theocracy styled after elements of the Ishkur belief and earlier, mythological elements surviving from the goa'uld era, even though it is nowadays agreed among historians that the actual theotarchs had no knowledge of that era, let alone the goa'uld, and merely emulated a system of governance they thought to be superior), the _Ashnan Confederacy_ (a comparable decentralized alliance of city states placed on the north-eastern coast of Niemas, occupying large swaths of what is arguably the best farmland on the continent), the _Empire of Ninurta_ (opposite the Ashnan Confederacy on the eastern side of the Sumugan, the central mountain chain running uninterrupted from pole to pole, Ninurta is a large territorial state surrounded by federal client nations; it was ruled by shifting dynasties that were reliant upon recognition of the institution of their rule by not only religious authorities, but also public acclamation) and the _Kingdom of Isin_ (the smallest of the four empires, with Isin still being ruled from the island of the same name; the wealth generated by trade and the kingdom's access to a large war fleet and a dedicated cadre of professional troops would give it significant leverage against its major neighbor state, the Ashnan Confederacy).

**4.) Imperial Age (ca. 900 BC – 200/300 AD) **

The 'Imperial Age' denotes the processes and developments that historically occurred over a period of roughly twelve-hundred years and at its apex saw the formation of two states that ruled over what at the time must be considered the 'Known World' (due to the development of idea of the heliocentric nature of the universe the circumference of Maquinna was known at that time, but insufficient nautic technology prohibited cross-ocean exploration missions).

The four nations leaving the 'Progenitor Era' as distinctively superior in all aspects of power were the Theotarchy of Monohap, the Ashnan Confederacy, the Empire of Ninurta and Kingdom of Isin. They were, however, far from being all-powerful, and all of them depended on a system of client nations which constituted a geographic and political periphery to each nation's centre of gravity and were bound to pay tributes in coin, grain or slaves and levy troops in the case of war. In some cases those relations were very close and strongly regulated, with the central state exerting a great amount of influence and power over the internal matters of its clients (as done by the Empire of Ninurta), resting on extensive treaty networks and legal precedents that in effect transmuted those federal clients into nothing but second-class provinces. Others, like the Ashnan Confederacy (itself being little more than an assembly of largely equal city states) exerted very little influence over its client states, usually refraining completely from demanding tributes or taking part in their inner machinations. The same can be said about the Kingdom of Isin, which based its system of alliances largely on heavily fortified and garrisoned port cities on the continent through which it did business, levied troops from clients and hired mercenary companies. The Theotarchy of Monohap was the most reclusive of the four large states emerging from the older age, a fact owed to the religious nature of its rule and its demand of being in possession of the ultimate authority through a mandate of the heavens.

The 'Imperial Age' itself can be roughly divided into two phases: the 'Period of Imperial Expansion' and the 'Period of the Three Empires' or 'Period of Dynastic Consolidation'.

The 'Period of Imperial Expansion' is set off by the visions of Immush the Blessed, the twelfth Theotarch of Monohap, in which he claims an apparition of his god, Ishkur, appeared to him and told him to unify all the people under the heavens under the reign of the believers. Actual goa'uld influence can be discounted in this case, as the god of the theotarchs had little resemblance to the actual, historic Ishkur, and none of the extensive Monohapian tomes preserved from that time shed any light on possible technological artefacts involved. The beginning of the 'Period of Imperial Expansion' is owed to simple religious fanaticism. Leading a fanatical crusade, the troops of the theotarchy burst into the client states of the Empire of Ninurta and overwhelm a great number of them before the comparably more powerful empire can react and bring its better organization and greater numbers to bear. With a fleet built in secret, the fanatic religious warriors also cut off the outlying island holdings of Ninurta and effectively reduce it to half its former size. For half a decade it seems as if the nominally superior empire will be brought to its knees. Two emperors die in battle in quick succession, and only the good relations to its steadfast client states saves the realm and the city of Ninurta which is besieged twice. While the theotarchy acquired great amounts of grain and wealth and slaves through their conquests, their actions in their new dominions soon placed them at odds with the population. The new territories required more and more troops to garrison them, and while Ninurta was getting slowly back on its feet, the island colonies and independent city states off the western coast of Niemas both began moving against the religious state and its fleet.

They became known as the Anahera Pirate Dominions, and in two great naval battles and with an endless series of coastal raids and pirate attacks on merchant shipping brought the naval supremacy of the Theotarchy of Monohap to an end after the eights year of the conflict. The Anahera Pirate Dominions would continue to exist throughout the ages, their remote location and moderate size making them uneconomic to subdue for the centuries to come. The nation in its various forms and names usually was governed by a council of merchants or pirate captains, with the boundaries between the two being fluid.

Sensing the weakness of the religious state, the Ashnan Confederacy, sitting east across the Sumugan, started an attack through the snow-free mountain passes the summer of the tenth year of the war, driving deep into Monohap's territory before new levies and an attack from the south, from the Kingdom of Isin and its clients forced it to change its strategy. By the eleventh year of the conflict, all four great alliances were at war, a state which continued well throughout the century with varying intensity.

The map one-hundred and fifty years into the 'Imperial Age' is devoid of many of the formerly existing client states, most of them having been fully incorporated into the four larger nations. The Ashnan Confederacy and the Empire of Ninurta are diminished in size, the former only nominally still a confederacy while in fact all power rests in the hands of a Martial Councillor (albeit an elected one). The Theotarchy of Monohap has only badly weathered the massive losses of the war, its religious order and the power of its caste of priests diminished by internal strife and public opposition, the power for the first time in centuries shared between the Theotarch and a mundane council. The great winner of the first round is the Kingdom of Isin, establishing itself as a continental power, usurping many of its clients as well as conquering territory of the Ashnan Confederacy.

This delicate balance of power is preserved despite intermittent clashes until the fifth century of the 'Imperial Age', when the Empire of Ninurta uses a succession crisis in Monohap as a pretext for invasion, conquering the other great nation in a campaign of less than six years, thus establishing itself as the only major power on the western side of the Sumugan. Once again, the Ishkur belief is marginalized by the largely Trinitarian belief system held by most Ninurtans (which is the same held nowadays by most Maquinnans), and to undermine dissidence the former enemy nations is partitioned into largely random provinces. Ninurta itself becomes the first city to have more than a million inhabitants.

The destruction of the theotarchy marks the start of the 'Period of the Three Empires' or, as it also is known, 'Period of Dynastic Consolidation'. With the Empire of Ninurta establishing itself on the western side of the Sumugan as the single great power, and with both Isin and Ashnan sliding into imperial forms of government themselves, the number of actual polities on Niemas' soil was never greater than ten during the following centuries, those smaller ones inescapably gravitating towards on of the great three. It was known at that time that Lythragon was settled, but the immense distances involved in reaching it and the fact that Lythragese shipmakers guarded the secrets of their trade to the best of their abilities made any ideas of one of the three great powers to mount an expedition or even invasion academic. The isolation of the island nation also preserved its language until today as one of the closest to the original spoken variety.

All three nations - Isin to a greater, the others to a smaller degree - were also aware of a great landmass off the eastern coast of Niemas, but repeated expeditions by galleys and even the dispatch of colony fleets had failed due to the extreme winds and currents in what is nowadays known as the 'Shallow Sea'. The 'Shallow Sea' derives its misleading name from the regular midday calms existing above the oceanic trench dividing the Rivecan and the eastern Niemas' continental plate. On the contrary, the sea there is everything but shallow, with the 'Enkidu Rift' assumed to be the deepest point on Maquinna. The landmass in question was Riveca, nowadays known as the continent ruled by the Cooperative.

While there were periods of conflict between the three empires, the natural boundaries and technological limitations of the day made those encounters brief and indecisive. The Sumugan divided east from west, with even its more accessible mountain passes only being usable for armies during the high summer months. The northernmost and southernmost regions were frozen wastelands in winter, impassable swamps in summer, and the polar narrows suffered from unpredictable currents and it was impossible to tell whether they would guarantee ice-free passages even during the summer.

The only greater martial activity before the end of the age occurred in 95 AD., when all three and their clients went to war with each other in the 'War of the Three Crowns', but even then only minor border adjustments were achieved for a great toll in blood and gold. All in all, the 'Period of Dynastic Consolidation' was just that, a period during which a select set of families solidified their grasp on the thrones. Niemas between 100 BC until the end of the age looked inwards, the great empires spending more and more time and money on public buildings, roads, arenas, theatres, art and luxury. It needs to be remembered that all those societies - sans Lythragon - based significant parts of their economies on the system of slavery, and once a process of decadence among the upper classes set in and the lower classes found themselves increasingly marginalized by generations of slaves, it created an economic nightmare, a financial barrel with no bottom. The increase in problems over times coincided with a decrease in quality of the ruling classes, with dynastic instability sky-rocketing towards the end of the age.

With unresolved social problems and immense sums spent on luxuries and trinkets, problems and revolts began to fester in the provinces and among the formerly loyal client states, unravelling almost all of what had been gained in wealth and territory over a thousand years. Within a matter of decades, the three empires had ceased to exist, degraded to meaningless lines on maps that corresponded still with titles, but no longer with real power. Provincial governors and magistrates made themselves kings, commanding armies and waging war against each other while impotent rulers in far away ancient cities watched as their empires crumbled like sand beneath the floods. There was no civilizational breakdown as the one occurring with the 'Long Night', but society still underwent massive changes at that time, and the dissolution of the great powers brought war, but also new dynamics and inventions (the compass, high seas sailing vessels, the telescope, wind- and watermills). The age ends with the death of the last steward of the throne of Isin, four decades after the nation had lost its last emperor in 215 AD.

**5.) The Long Road (ca. 300 AD to 900 AD)**

The 'Long Road' begins with the death of the last of the three emperors in 215 AD, which also signals the introduction of the 'Common Calendar'. It is generally marked by the dissolution of the centres of power from Niemas itself to the other larger continents, starting in the fifth century with the successful colonization of Riveca by various merchant consortia, followed by Troaves in 529 AD and Kallar in the first decade of the seventh century by survivors of a slave revolt in Ashkoth. While nations on Niemas reverted to a state comparable to that of the city states and the loose alliances of the 'Progenitor Era', especially the settlements on Troaves and on Kallar soon created lasting, unified nation states (most likely aided by the fact that they were far away from the political squabbles of the central continent). War is a common phenomenon on Niemas in that age, even though there are - for the first time - several initiatives of the Trinitarian temples and other beliefs to limit and contain the violence, with the Great Sun personally intervening several times in two centuries to facilitate diplomatic solutions (which are upheld by all involved parties). It was a sign of things to come, of the Trinitarian dominance and political influence between 850 to 1050 AD, but all in all the 'Long Road' was an age very similar to the 'Progenitor Age': divisive and dynamic, full of intrigues and warfare. It only comes to an end when towards the second half of the ninth century something happens that nobody had foreseen: an 'Imperial Resurgence'.

**6.) The Imperial Resurgence (ca. 900 – 1050 AD)**

Beginning in the ninth century, a powerful alliance between the Principality of Harsin and the Trinitarian Temple develops, effectively undermining other city state's rule in which the Temple is active. Harsin, one of the larger and more prosperous former provinces of Isin and a good pupil to its imperial teacher, arises as a mercantile kingdom, its power based on its increasingly large fleet and an ample supply of mercenaries and voluntary citizen soldiers. In the ninth century it can add the mastery of black powder to its resume, quickly deploying the discovery in weaponized forms. The first bronze cannon is fired of the 1st of the 13th, 903 AD, and the new weapons propel Harsin from victory to victory, at sea and on land. During the following one hundred years, the rich province conquers the whole south-east of Niemas up to the Gulf of Ashnan. While the magistrates cannot prevent the knowledge of black powder weapons from falling into other nations' hands the fragmented nature of the political landscape on Niemas prevent any kind of coordinated opposition from forming. By 1021, Harsin has reached its zenith. Aware of the problems of ruling such a territorially extensive empire, the magistrates turn their focus inwards, consolidating their rule. Co-founded by the temple, the empire establishes the planets first universities in the third decade of the new millennium. In 1039, they become the first nation to abolish and outlaw slavery, freeing 14 million slaves in the process (while there had been nations which had never practiced slavery, Harsin is the first to consciously outlaw the practice, strongly influenced by the Trinitarian Temple). Harsin remains the only example of the 'Imperial Resurgence', but its influence on the future would be lasting.

**7.) Namtar's Reign (1047 – 1552 AD)**

_Namtar = "Fate", the demon responsible for death. Namtar has no hands or feet and does not eat or drink_

Starting in 1047 AD the prosperous times end as a small ice age hits Maquinna. Stunting population growth, responsible for crop failures on a large scale and the susceptibility to pandemics of large parts of the population, the increasing periods of cold soon lead to serious setbacks. More than one third of the population dies within the first century due to malnutrition and the effects of various pandemics pummeling the human societies, the measles pandemic of 1098 - 1102 AD being the most severe. The sciences and exploration atrophy, the unification achieved by the Imperial resurgence is undone as centralized control breaks apart when societies across the globe come to a standstill due to the losses of the pandemics. The existing nations largely fragment on Raeva, Niemas and Riveca, with most forms of developed economic activity greatly diminished. The actual cold period ends in 1477, when summer temperatures comparable to those found in older temple records from the eleventh century are measured, but climatic instability, including massive storms and continuous flooding not only create many apocalyptic sects, but last till the summer of 1552. Archaelogic data suggests that around the year 1550 AD global population had again reached the pre-crisis levels of around 180 million people.

Lythragon as an exceptionally well-governed, centralized state weathers the whole small ice age the best, having suffered the least from the pandemics due to its remote location, actually having its population almost double during the concerned centuries. In the fifteenth century (Lythragese records suggest the Earth year 1434 AD. as a start date), the island kingdom invades the scarcely inhabited island group around the central island of Kyce, thus gaining access not only to new farmland, but also to the strategically important clean iron ore which is found in Kyce's central chain of hills. Given the breakup of the Empire of Harsin, the move also makes Lythragon the world's largest nation.

**8.) The Torn Century (1560 - 1672)**

'Peace is not the state of the race of man,' Nanaq Grel of Thuseen wrote in his very influential book 'Matters of Faith' in 1332 (published at the same time as the 'Trinitarian Epistles', thus making it the second book to be printed in history), and never has this saying been proven better than in the years between 1560 to 1672.

On the 8th of the 8th of 1560, an armada of four-hundred warships and twice as many cargo-barges, the largest fleet ever assembled until that date, set sail from the Koronian Bay on the south-eastern coast of Lythragon. Commanded by the heir apparent, Prince Aucaman Mateo, and sailing under royal decree of the King of the Two Isles, this massive fleet landed two weeks later on the island group known as the Myrkonian Sisters, two-hundred miles off the western coast of Niemas and the Gulf of Ashkoth, quickly subjugating the until then independent isles and making them a supply hub for their invasion of the mainland. Three weeks later they sailed for Ashkoth itself. Refugees from the islands had reached the continent earlier, but the sheer size of the Lythragese fleet had made their claims fall on deaf ears. When twenty-thousand infantrymen landed, they found the capital city almost undefended as they planted the Kraken flag of their nation on its highest towers. The 'Torn Century' had begun.

Lythragon, leaving 'Namtar's Reign' comparably strengthened to everyone else, pursued a strategy of conquest that had been minutely planned and prepared for years. Commanding the seas by sheer quantity of force for the first few years, it was able to crush the resistance of the early coalitions forming against it, landing troops in its enemies' backs with impunity while suffering far less from the logistics problems they had. A powerful coalition of merchant and craftsmen guilds back home made certain that the armies in the field were aptly supplied from the deep mines and granaries and workshops with the best that day and age had to offer. The first two decades saw an unrivaled streak of victories of the island nation, conquering everything on the western side of the Sumugan between the southern taiga and the centre of the continent. Following a period of uneasy peace in the late 1590ies, however, Lythragese troops landed on the southern tip of Kallar and along the eastern shores of Riveca, thus expanding what had in essence been a larger, yet not atypical conflict into one that soon encompassed the whole world.

Kallar at that time was comparably thinly populated, with coalitions of townships and city states bound by common tradition and the need for mutual defense being the norm. Still referring to themselves as 'The Colonies' by 1600, there was no settlement with more than 20,000 inhabitants on Kallar, and the Lythragese expedition, though not numerous, posed a serious threat to the settlers there. Riveca had been more thoroughly settled by that time, its colonization backed by merchant cartels and the close proximity between the two continents after improvements in nautical technology had made its exploration possible. Often the individual settlements were claimed by the respective monarchs and rulers from the nations of which the original settlers had originated from, but with their waning power and the growth of the communities, those ties - even at that time - had become strained. Posed with often well-fortified central settlements, the Lythragese here were faced with considerable opposition, opposition that grew in ferocity once a young general from the northern coast named Tammuz Deires managed to bind a dozen of them together despite their home countries' hostility towards each other. This inescapably draws in their home countries from the east of the Sumugan - and in all but in name by 1608 a world war has begun. By 1615 a stalemate has developed on all three continents, with Lythragon consolidating its rule west of the Sumugan. Fighting flares up again in the third decade of the seventeenth century after Lythragon enters an alliance with the Anahera Dominions, securing itself the dominance of the seas even against growing opposition.

On the 20th of the 6th of 1628 however the expeditionary forces on Kallar surrender after a decade long campaign of attrition against increasingly well-trained and equipped militias. At the same time, the newly formed 'League of Harsin' sends an army of seventy thousand on foot, twenty-five thousand cavalry and seven-hundred field pieces across the southern mountain passes into continental Lythragon while the northern kingdoms on the western side of the central mountain chain sends an army over the border as well. From that point on, the island kingdom is on the defensive, gradually loosing ground. In 1637, they withdraw all their troops and those of their clients from Riveca to battle on Niemas. In good old pirate tradition, the Anahera Dominions back-stab the Lythragese in 1639. After that the continental empire is lost, province after province. In 1653 the Lythragese launch a counter-offensive that momentarily can stem the tide, but four years later they loose their last bastion on the mainland. The last true battlefield of the war is the Myrkonian Sisters, on which the Lythragese have dug in. It takes the combined League's efforts to liberate them until 1670, after which the Trinitarian Temple manages to facilitate a peace agreement which is signed two years later and which returns the world to the 'status quo ante' - theoretically.

Drawn closer together by the war, the communities of Kallar sign the royal charter, making Andresh Raeva their first monarch, unifying much of the continent under the rule of a constitutional monarchy. On Riveca, the son of popular hero Tammuz Deires (named like his father) installs himself as emperor of most of the former mercantile colonies, conquering those who refuse his rule not far after that. Economically exhausted, neither the merchant cartels nor the continental kingdoms have the power to do much about these developments.

While war has ravaged all continents for close to a century, and most nations are exhausted and still largely feudally organized, the onset of the population boom resulting from an increasingly good climate provide ample manpower for economic recovery. The long war has caused a technology race, with mechanization driven by wind and water leading to surprisingly productive industries, workshops and agricultural output. While the scientific method has yet to be formulated and truly educated men are far and few between, the groundwork for fast progress is laid.

**9.) The Age of Reason (ca. 1680 - 1820)**

'The whole world takes a breath', as an anonymous poet described the spirit of the age. While wars are still fought, they are few and limited in scope. All nations are rebuilding to the best of their means, and social changes slowly take place. Feudal structures are beginning to break down, at the same time the opposition against the remaining pockets of slavery is intensifying. It also is, as some have called it, the 'Age of the Universities'. Large centres if learning are established all over the globe. The development of the scientific method leads to advances in all theoretical fields: the theory of gravity is formulated in 1705, the theory of evolution 1723, the discovery of all the solar system's seven planets is completed by 1745 AD. A group of scholars who have optimized the royal telescope on Ninurta theorize the idea of 'cosmic drift' at that point, but it's not until the Heaven's Gate is activated that it can be confirmed. In 1771, the explorers Nahuel Isi and Paora Koona publish their 'Complete Atlas of Maquinna', the first complete mapping of Maquinna (except the poles) while the royal court of Riveca stages the first lighter than air flights, using balloons and blimps, in 1777. The steam engine is independently developed on the three continents between 1775 - 1779. The remote "Brotherhood of Ishkur" sees its first revival by those disaffected with the new scientific findings and the materialist outlook on life.

The 'Age of Reason's end comes with the global abolition of slavery, signed by thirty-two nations at Raeva's capital, Ishkar, where all participants agree to enforce according policies.

**10.) Age of Hammer and Steam (ca. 1820 - 1965) **

Unlike on Earth, the process of industrialization on Maquinna does not coincide with a period of imperialism. For one, most of the map is already claimed by cultural equals, and secondly, the two powerhouses of industrialization, Raeva and the Tammuz Deires Empire, both are resource independent. Their dominance over much of the rest of the world is mainly economic, with the traditionally very capable economy of the Lythragese being the exception. While their own economies grow and technology is leapfrogging, influence is bought overseas behind the scenes. Raeva generally does better in absorbing the negative social effects of the processes of industrialization and urbanization, soon deploying a basic social safety net. Contrarily, the Tammuz Deires dynasty is gradually weakened due to civil strife, increasing internal opposition and the creation of an extremely rich and increasingly powerful class or merchants and industrialists that informally work together to further their goals, co-opting much of the state's power in the process while establishing themselves as benevolent supporters of the working classes (through access to the state's taxes and their own large wealth). When the Tammuz Deires monarch is killed in an assassination without leaving behind any suitable heirs the Age of Hammer and Steam ends with the collapse of the monarchy on Riveca. The country spirals into a civil war whose effects soon result Raeva and its sphere of influence being drawn into the fray: the Great War has begun.

**11) The Great War (1959-1975)**

If you want so, the Maquinnan equivalent of Earth's WW1 and WW2, a war spanning all continents, lasting fifteen years in its entirety. It was not one single war, but many wars overlapping, merging, some being over during the first three years, others raging on for the entirety of the whole one and a half decades. Following several serious military defeats largely blamed by the involved generals on his influence, the last monarch of Raeva abdicates 1972. The war sees the formation of the Cooperative and shatters the latest Nieman city confederation, making the post-war world a level playing field for Raeva and the Coops. The pre-war state of technology was comparable to 1916, but during the hostilities it increases significantly, with the technology at the start of the postwar age being roughly at the level of 1948. Wartime saw the development (and deployment) of toxic gas, later early nerve gas, early missile technology and early nuclear technology. Before the cessation of hostilities, six nuclear strikes took place on Maquinna (four actual combat strikes, two tests), two of them against targets in and around the area of the Gap of Mundaneere.

During the whole fifteen years, seventy million people died, half of them non-combatants.

**12.) The Age of Atomics (1965 - now) **

Welcome to the Cold War: six confirmed atomic nations and an estimated 60,000 warheads just waiting to be deployed.


	7. Review

**Chapter 5 - Review**

There was a special wing at the Milkwater Base's hospital which had been sealed off for those who had been wounded during the mission on Enheduana. Doctors and nurses who had done their service here for years had been transferred, more often than not without any prior information, and security was as tight as it could probably get. The military was a close-knit world of its own, and within that world Rikara and Milkwater base were further off the 'real' life than most other garrisons. For five moons the temperature here never climbed above the freezing point, and on a territory the size of the whole nation of Ashkoth and its forty million people lived fewer than four million Raevans. And right now Ishkent Riever felt that at least every second of them was either working for The Lurker or the Military Shield Service.

The corridors were mostly empty, with guards in black and brown uniforms and brown berets standing at some intersections and at all entrances. The doctors and nurses were like ghosts, moving a bit too conscious and silent for civilians. Riever stopped in front of a beige door and hesitated. He did not really know why he did what he was doing, and that was something he did not experience very often. With a start the gaunt man opened the door and entered the room. The blinds were half-closed and the lights inside were dimmed, contrasting sharply to the shiny blue script and readings on the metal-cased machinery that seemed to surround the bed in the centre of the room and the man lying in it.

'Chuck' Antiman had been gravely wounded when they escaped from the city of Marduk, more gravely than they had expected back then. The right front of his head was scarred, the tissue burned and grafted as good as the surgeons could. Nobody knew whether the man could still use his right eye as the operation had tasked his health quite a bit and the doctors had placed him into an artificial coma – one from which he refused to wake up again. Riever did not particularly like the man. In his mind the archaeologist was too symptomatic of the new generation of spoiled, bratty post-war children who thought they had eaten the Father's wisdom by the spoonful just because they had had the luck to find themselves in the circumstances that allowed them to look back at the preceding generations from a position of imagined mortal superiority. That the Coops very successfully had done their best to export their weird social ideas to every corner of the planet probably also played a part in it.

Under these circumstances, others might have found it odd that of all people it was Riever who went to check 'Chuck' Antiman, but the few people who truly knew the silent soldier understood. The archaeologist had put his life on the line, had risked death for people he barely knew and had fought against a great evil. It had been a show of good character that deserved to be honoured.

Sitting down on a chair besides the bed, he took seldom used reading glassed from a front pocket of his gray military tunic and opened an old, leather bound tome he had carried under his arm. Ishkent Riever had no children. There was no shame in that, not even from a Trinitarian point of view, if one was a believer. His family had always been the armed forces. But he was more than old enough to be a father, maybe even a grandfather.

"I really have no idea why I am doing this, you know," he said in that stoic voice that was almost something of a trademark for him, "but here I am, doing it anyhow. When I was a young boy, my father used to read to me when I was distraught. They say your mind is distraught, Chuck Antiman. Being read to helped me to put my mind at ease and sleep. Maybe it'll help yours to awake."

He cleared his throat and sighed, then began.

"I will proclaim to the world the deeds of Gilgamesh. This was the man to whom all things were known; this was the king who knew the countries of the world. He was wise, he saw mysteries and knew secret things, he brought us a tale of the days before the flood... "

**A-Day + 32**

**Earth Date: 1998**

Another series of explosions let thunder roll through the valley, and dust and debris rose from a spot three-hundred paces to the north in a high plume. The past few days had been unusually windless, and by now a thin layer of white and gray dust covered everything in the separated valley where the facilities of the project were situated. Comalla, Tane and the rest of the base had quickly become used to that, and even the Enheduans had adjusted to the alien cacophony of sounds after the initial wave of fear had been soothed with the help of Zech Wapasha and Enhur. The people that had fled together with them had also settled into their state as refugees as well as they could. Enhur, the one-armed former farmer, had been elected by them as their leader and spokesman. If problems or demands arose from within the camp, he was the one to talk to, and he had acquired an almost natural air of authority and calm determination that reminded many of the Raevan soldiers dealing with the refugees on a daily basis of a seasoned military leader.

The refugees from the planet Enheduana had been vaccinated against most known Maquinnan diseases, and a team of doctors of the Medical Corps was in the camp at any time, looking after the newcomers. The harsher climate of northern Rikara was the largest cause of concern for the Raevan soldiers, making it easier for illnesses to be caught by the Enheduan metabolisms unfamiliar with the – for them – alien plagues. As such, the refugees' daily diet also included copious amounts of vitamin supplements and antibiotics.

A full moon had passed since they had crossed the stars in an instant and had found themselves on another world, and in mortal danger. Those past thirty days had seen the breakdown of many old assumptions, and a complete internal re-evaluation of the approach to 'Project: Heaven's Gate'.

"_How did our beloved High Constable take the news?_"

"As bad as could be expected, Hernic. He's not used to his own plans to backfire quite that nicely. When I told him what I need to get the job done he was, how shall I say it, rather unsupportive, until I explained what not helping me would entail," Comalla told the man on the other end of the secure telephone line.

The delicate intricacies of the political situation had made it impossible for Unqas Cicali to do much about that, even though the man had been furious and by now was undoubtedly scheming behind the scenes. The orders on which Comalla was acting were signed by the Chief Cabinet Minister himself – something Cicali had been very thorough to have arranged in the first place. After all, Comalla's departure from High Command had originally been the whole plan, and those political moves behind the curtain needed to be watertight.

Right after they had concluded the mission on Enheduana Comalla had activated each and every political and military contact he had build up over his career, especially the men in High Command of which he knew were part of the 'moderate' and the 'reactionary' faction. One of the latter one was Hernic Abanrut, the commander in chief of the two army corps tasked with the defence of the Gap of Mundaneere and a friend back from the days on the battlefields of the Great War.

"_Well, serves him right to be stonewalled like that. Are you getting all you need for those test centres you are supposed to be setting up now?_"

The cover story Comalla had created was an easily believable one, in these times more than ever. The number of people in the actual chain of command who were informed about what truly was going on at Milkwater Base was rather manageable. The word he had spread around right after return was that he had been shunned as a political rival in High Command and transferred to the Rikaran north to set up an aerospace and atomics test centre far away from the eyes of the Cooperative. That, and that he had needed way more men and equipment to handle the task, citing that he had a ludicrously small number of specialists on the spot.

As expected, Cinqali – opportunist that he was – had jumped right into the trap once he realized the repercussions of the – now successful – programme, but by that time Comalla already had the moderates and the reactionaries and even some of those leaning towards the 'New Way' on his side. Banishing someone from High Command was one thing. Sabotaging his work quite another. And there had been no way for the High Constable to tell them the truth, lest he commit treason and/or risk his whole political standing.

"Yes, the engineers are beginning to trickle in, which is a good thing. It'll be weeks or months till the Corps has got the facilities ready, but I'll see what I can do in the meantime. Thanks for the support in the matter, Hernic. I appreciate it."

The officer on the other end barked a laughter.

"Well, it certainly was a nice example of political maneuvering, old friend. Wish I could do as much for next year's budgetary hearings," Hernic Abanrut audibly harumphed. "They're again trying to cut my mobile AAM assets, just when there's talk of a new Coop bomber generation running of the manufacturing lines."

"Good luck with that. I fear I've shot all my powder for the time being. Time to entrench myself with what I managed to get out of that little exercise," Comalla responded cautiously. "Listen, Hern, I have to go now. I'm sitting on a pile of paper that make a ruufa dung heap look pleasant in comparison."

"_Well, no good deed remains unpunished_," he snorted. "_May the Father guide you then_," Constable Hernic Abanrut ended their conversation with a traditional Trinitarian blessing.

Comalla responded with a 'Good bye' before a click in the line told him his old comrade had placed his receiver back on the telephone. He had never been much of an openly religious person, but many Raevans, many Maquinnans were, and Comalla respected that. Patar Tane was one of his best men, probably one of the best soldiers in the armed forces, and he was someone who prayed regularly, though Comalla suspected more to the Brothers than to Father or Mother.

The original orders had given him_ full authority for all means and future requirements of 'Project: Heaven's Gate'_, but those orders had been based on the assumption that at best it would be something that after some years would produce some nice archaeologic articles and a public relations' boost for the military, and at worst be a dud. What the orders now, in effect, did was to give him access to all means he deemed necessary. That was a thought that still needed to fully sink in with Constable Tarvon Comalla.

With great power came great responsibility. And unbeknownst to its population, Comalla now was responsible for a whole planet. They had stirred up the shallow reavers' den, and now they had to find a way to weather the storm. That's why the constable needed all those engineers and scientists, and all the equipment he had outlined in the sealed folder on his desk whose copy had gone to the relevant sources in High Command. They – Raeva, Maquinna – _needed_ to understand what they were up against, needed to understand the technology they had encountered. Comalla had no illusions that he had started a war, but he intended to have it happen on somebody else's turf. But for now, they needed reconnaissance, they needed technology, they needed knowledge, in short: they needed to know in just what kind of snake pit they had landed themselves.

The interrogation specialists he had had flown in from the capital had done things he shuddered even to think about, things he had not thought to be possible to happen only a moon ago. But that had been a moon ago. And today was today. Two of the three teams The Lurker had sent had returned to other tasks in their agency again, but one remained at the base. Whoever had been on the other side of the telephone conversation he had had back then obviously had a frightening amount of political leverage. It was rather unusual to have members of a nominally civilian secret agency work within a top secret project of another branch of government as all services eyed their turf with the eyes of a silver hawk, but The Lurker had achieved a permanent assignment of that team in less than twenty-four hours. Not that the Military Shield Service, their military counterpart, had been too happy about that. The constable was not interested in their little turf war as long as it did not impede his job.

Constable Tarvon Comalla liked to be informed on everything that happened on his base, but in the case of their prisoners he had for once decided that ignorance was bliss. The ends did, indeed, justify the means in this case. Wisely enough, The Lurker had teletaped all interrogations, and members of his own staff had provided oversight and written transcripts of what had happened down in the quarantine sections of the massive reinforced concrete block where most of the original facilities had been set up. The Lurker had welcomed the opportunity to test various means in combination his teams had at hand: drugs, direct physical torture, sleep and sound and food deprivation, and others. On some Jaffa prisoners they tried their methods just to test how long they could withstand them until their organism started breaking down, having exhausted all their reserves. The Raevans had captured seventeen Jaffa, all of them wounded. Medical care had been provided to them to make them ready for interrogation, voluntary cooperation was rewarded.

Still, the relentless approach _The Lurker_ took towards the prisoners, and Comalla's no-holds-barred stance on those aliens took its toll. Of the seventeen, only five had survived the moon, having been milked for all the information their brains could provide before taking lethal and permanent damage. The others had soon after their demise become the object of study in the medical wing of the facility – and some had had that dubious honour even while they had been still alive. Granted, Comalla knew that those were Army doctors, and they were bound by oath and profession not to harm their patients, but after reading some of the stomach-turning reports from the interrogation chambers, somehow everything had started to look a lot less rosy to the veteran soldier.

**A few hours later**

"Contrary to popular belief we are not all trained in torturing random people we grab off the street in damp basements," Terren Manish, the lead Lurker agent who had stayed with the project as a liaison, stated laconically in response to a snide remark made by professor Zech Wapasha. "And as Dr. Helmand will readily tell you, most of what we did was done in cooperation with the medical staff, largely for scientific purposes," he inhaled deeply from his cigarette and nodded to the man at the projector to continue.

"Torture remains torture," Wapasha shook his head, muttering to himself.

"Oh please, my good professor. I would have expected a higher grade of differentiation from a man of science like you," Manish's tone was ripe with well-chosen smugness. "_Torture_ is the act of causing physical harm to someone with the sole intention of making him suffer. That's a very base motive, don't you think? What The Lurker does is questioning, not torture. We do things for a purpose, and we chose our means," a brow of his rose, "economically."

"You are playing semantics with me here!"

Terren Manish smiled thinly, leaning back against the office's wall.

"Of course I am."

"Enough of this already!" Comalla sounded more annoyed than angry about the heated exchange. While he did not share Professor Wapasha's more absolutist moral ideals even he found the impervious nature of their liaison to Raeva's secret service disturbing.

"Unless it's in the face of a clear and present danger, The Lurker refrains from using most the methods that have been tried on the prisoners. Employing forms of physical trauma was more of an academic venture to the teams involved in it. We were interested in testing the individual and general pain threshold of those 'Jaffa' warriors, as well as finding out the limits of their enhanced physiology." He shrugged and nodded towards the bound report on Comalla's desk. "And that we did." He drew a pack of cigarettes from his jacket and lit a new one, deeply inhaling its fumes.

A set of slides showing masked, white-robed people cut and electrocute a large man with a pouch-like hole in his stomach who strangled against his restraints appeared on the screen, the quality barely diluted by the smoke which lay heavy in the air. "We have it all on telescreen bands, but a complete presentation would exceed the purpose of the briefing. The actual medical specifics are better told to you by Dr. Helmand, but suffice to say that we found out that the worms those 'Jaffa' all carried in their pouches significantly enhance their health, endurance and resistance to pain."

The treatment of the Enheduans had been the complete opposite of that, and for good reason. Raeva and the nations preceding it had originally been founded by fugitive slaves from Nieman city states, long ago before the global balance of power had gradually started to shift. As such, most of the base's staff sympathized with the refugees and their plight. Even though most of them were just ordinary people of what was basically an iron-age society, the flood of information they had given to the Raevans in casual conversations and when being questioned by the scientists around Zech Wapasha had been astonishing.

Both sides of the story had been compiled into a two-hundred pages thick report that now rested on his desk, and on his mind. What he had learned from it was only deepening his fears and worries: parasites maturing in human bodies, posing as gods once they had grown up. Enslaving whole worlds, keeping the people chained to superstitious beliefs and in eternal servitude to the larvae inside abducted human bodies. Wars raging over planets where Goa'uld lords' forces clashed, worlds reduced to radioactive wastelands where the seed of resistance had grown or were a possible future adversary had been detected. None of that was likely to give him a good night of restful sleep.

"The regenerative qualities shown by that symbiont," Helmand took over, "are quite astonishing. Tissue and muscle damage, even repairing extensive organ damage are within the reach of those little worms, albeit only if inflicted slowly and locally. The reports from the battle indicate that the actual damage inflicted by the shock and wounds from modern rounds is sufficiently extensive enough to kill a 'Jaffa' warrior as well as any other normal person. Which brings us to the effects of their weapons," the medical specialist frowned. "Those heat rays have a devastating effect not only on the position they directly impact on, but also sear the surrounding tissue and attack the nearby organs. The tests we ran on ruufa and pigs with those 'staff weapons' you brought back show that the immense heat that's transferred upon impact even on remote parts of the body can theoretically lead to cardiac arrest and brain haemorrhages if the victim is in a weakened condition."

"I find the revelation that they are parasites that can attach themselves to any human they wish to be the most disturbing one." Tane seemed sickened by the very thought.

"The most disturbing, and the most troubling one, too. It's a massive internal security risk we'll have to work our way around somehow," Manish nodded in agreement.

"Well, now the box of scorpions is open," he muttered to himself while the next sequence of explosions thundered across the base as the Army Corps of Engineers blasted deeper caverns for a future large bunker complex. Outside, behind shatterproof windows, another plume of dust and debris puffed away from the mountainside. With a clear and present danger out there, most sensitive equipment and the command facilities could under no circumstances be situated in a trailer. The new bunker complex in the mountain would serve as a node where command decisions would be made, the gate operated and the defence of the gate be commanded and planned, complete with briefing rooms, operation centres and direct lines to High Command and the other military branches, most importantly Strategic Command, which held sway over Raeva's atomic assets, including its first generation of atomic missile carrying submarines. And it would also house all the scientific staff and its facilities. Time was of essence. He just hoped what they were doing would gain them enough of that to get through this alive.

"Gentlemen, the threat we are facing is feudal in nature, and if facing a galaxy full of feudal fiefdoms wasn't enough, they all have styled themselves after various gods. Thus, we are in fact facing a multitude of warring feudal theocracies lead by alien imposters hell-bent on enslaving their human host populations and destroying their parasitic opponents. That would be one thing if we ware facing a bunch of mad Nieman city states with a towering superiority complex," that drew some chuckles from around the table from those aware of the quagmire that was the world's central continent. "However, out there among the stars those goa'uld are operating, and they can rely on space ships with faster than light engines, rayguns and massed infantry forces of fanatically loyal soldiers. That's our frontline. We don't have any manuals for a situation like this," he gave Zech Wapasha and Terren Manish particularly long looks, "so we have to make them up as we go. In the meantime, use your common sense and your moral compass. Now, is there anything else?"

"Strategic Command is set to send us a permanent liaison to keep us up to date to the global strategic situation. I thought my agency could do that as well, but it won't hurt to have them onboard," Manish shrugged. "We'll try to keep an eye or two on the internal side of the matter then and try to keep the circle of informed people as small as possible."

"Most of it has been passed on to High Command, basically as fast as we ourselves got to know it. The full report we hold in our hands now will be sent by courier tonight in a secure briefcase and under guard. As for the Council, I cannot say how far they've been informed," Comalla leaned back in his chair. "If Cinqali has his seven senses together, the committee tasked with overseeing projects as secret as ours will keep its mouth shut as good as it can. The last thing we need now is for some political hack letting the news of our findings slip into the daily motions of the political machine." Silence was the response he got from his impromptu command staff, and the constable nodded.

"Very well, then we might just as well continue with the programme. Chief Nuka, do we have a new set of gate addresses?"

Isor Nuka, freshly promoted to _Senior Chief, 1st Strata_ was the man nominally in charge of operating the gate. His promotion reflected his new duties which, among other things, included acting as a liaison with the Polytechnic University of Ishkar where supercomputers equipped with the first generation of Raeva's industries micro-transistors did most of the calculations needed to fine-tune their dialing programme.

"The university sent us two new addresses from the list this moon, Sir," Nuka replied. "Depending on how much of the allotted timeslots for their computers we can use the professor in charge there tells me they might have one or more ready the next month."

"Good, chief. Schedule gate activation for the first address for tomorrow at noon. Commander Tane, get your team ready by then. We have work to do."

**A-Day + 33**

**Earth Date: May 1, 1998**

The large, gray metal ring rumbled into action, with chevron after chevron locking into position, the way it happened across thousands of worlds across the whole galaxy. The ground vibrated softly as the ring turned, shaking dust and tiny pebbles from the walls and ceiling of the high hall it stood in. Sunshine bathed it through narrow and tall windows made from beautifully coloured glass as it turned, locking first a sixth and then the final seventh chevron. One moment, energy sprung from it like a gust of water, the next its surface lay still like a quiet like. For just a moment, there was no sound within the large structure, then the surface did part, making way for a rumbling, box-like vehicle with slanted sides.

It was an ugly thing, more than eight feet long and half as high, running on narrow tracks padded with black rubber, crowned with a set of stubby antennas and narrow turret that housed a remote operated monochrome camera. The whole machine was dark, almost black except for a few white cuneiform signs denoting it as 'R-002'. The turret whirred from left to right and back, the camera radioing the pictures it recorded back through the open wormhole over hundreds, if not thousands of light years.

There, on the other side a busy Senior Chief Isor Nuka and three other technicians reviewed the telecamera feed while a set of smaller vacuum tube computers in the laconically yet fittingly called 'command trailer' busily spun their magnetic tapes and produced printouts on wide sheets of 'endless paper'. With him were Constable 2nd strata Tarvon Comalla, Commander 2nd strata Patar Tane and Dr. Hemi Nanuq who had already been a member of their ill-fated first mission.

"What's our status, Mr. Nuka?" Comalla leaned over the lead technician's shoulder as he worked the remote control station for the 'Recon 2' drone.

"Transmission has been achieved, vehicle is well within its operational parametres. We have visuals from the exit point, vehicle battery power is at 97%," the senior chief explained, letting the camera turret swing around once more. "Seems we're inside a larger structure, and judging from the brightness I'd say it's around noon at the exit point."

"From the size and the ornaments that looks like a temple, or a palace," Nanuq remarked while taking notes on a small pad.

"Barometric pressure and radiation levels are nominal," one of the other gate technicians informed them as he and his colleagues went through print-outs from the trailer's four teleprinters. "And we have a breathable nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere, sir."

Comalla and Tane exchanged short looks before the latter shrugged resignedly.

"I've done missions that relied on much shakier intelligence than that," he sighed before putting his mask and helmet on. _May the Mother shelter our souls, the Father give us wisdom and the Brothers guide our strikes_, he silently recited the first line of the old martial prayer that had been in use with all soldiers who were Trinitarians since Mother, Father and the Brothers had first blessed mortal men.

He saluted and stepped outside where an Omob autocar was waiting for him and the doctor to transport them to the gate some eight-hundred paces away in the middle of a wide concrete field. The Engineer Corps had mounted it on tracks that run across a small shunt that allowed it the gate operators to turn the heavy metal ring towards a large, circular rod made of armoured concrete. If the gate was activated from an off-world position the rod would black the incoming transmission. Right now it stood facing the gray plateau with the shimmering, water-like surface filling it.

His team - 1st Section, 3rd Combat Group, 857th Airmobile Battalion – was already there. The men calmly waited for their officer in a protective concrete ditch some sixty paces away from the gate. When Tane and Nanuq left the autocar, they silently fell in with them. It was the same group of people who had gone to Enheduana, but this time only two scientists would accompany them, and of course the vacancies created by the casualties had filled with men from the 2nd Section.

Banner bearer Antinanco Tesca, Tane's second in command for this mission closed up on him and saluted sharply. The _bee-bees_, as they were colloquially called in the forces, was a young man with sun-darkened skin, almost a head shorter than Tane and graced with the muscular build of a professional wrestler. Tesca had excelled on the missions he had been tasked with, and Tane had made certain the man was attached to the 'Heaven's Gate' programme were his leadership qualities would be made good use of.

"We're ready to go, sir," he informed Tane, his voice muffled through the filters of his mask.

"Then let's do this."

Two by two, they emerged from the active wormhole. The gate here was mounted on a pedestal of carved and painted rock, seven widening stairs leading down into a huge, minster-like room whose twenty paces high pillars seemed to have been made from single, huge tree trunks into which the intertwining colourful likenesses of demons and animals and humans had been carved. The wild mixture strangely collided with the serene calm that filled the exit point, and except for where the sun from outside threw brightly coloured rays through glass windows the room was doused in twilight. The air was cold and so rich with incense that the smell easily penetrated their masks. It streamed from dozens of braziers that lined the walls.

Soldiers swarmed out from the gate and took defensive positions in a half-circle, though there was little cover there. Aside from the pillars and a giant wooden statue of a beautiful woman with exotic features that towered twice as high as the elevated gate the interior was bare of any furniture. A large mosaic depicting the same woman as the statue covered most of the floor, though here she held a glowing orb on a bracelet in her right hand and something that could have either represented the gate or a moon in her left.

"Definately a temple," Nanuq mused as he stepped next to Tane and Tesca who oversaw the men as they swarmed out. "And I'd wager a guess that this' the local goddess."

"Whoever she is, she's got yellow hair!" Zyanya Aylen, the only female member of their team muttered in astonishment. Some telescreen stars had coloured their hair yellow on Maquinna for the sake of publicity and standing apart from the masses, for it was a colour that did not appear naturally on the planet. Various shades of brown and black and, of course, gray were common for Maquinnans, and there were the Trinitarian priests who shaved their heads completely. This one had yellow hair, and a crown of feathers to boot.

"One of them goa'uld?" Tesca wanted to know, his face twisted in a grimace easily visible even behind the mask.

"If the reports we have from the prisoners are accurate I'd say there's a high chance that our lady here is one," Tane answered in Nanuq's stead.

The archaeologist however was not convinced.

"She might just as well represent a local deity or even some long dead heroine. If you walked into a Trinitarian temple would you automatically assume the Mother was a goa'uld just because she is featured so prominently?"Anger flashed in Tane's eyes for a moment, but Hemi Nanuq ignored it. "I can give you my first impression once I've checked the building for glyphs or other forms of inscriptions. Zyanya, would you help me, please?"

Zyanya Aylen only had a minor degree in archaeology, unlike Nanuq who could already look back upon a respectable academic career in that field. Her field of expertise was in etymology and linguistics. She had taken the first mission to Enheduana rather well insofar as she had thrown herself into a crash military training programme the very moment she had left the first debriefing. Of a small but atlethic build she had cut her hair unnaturally short for Raevan female standards so that she could comfortably wear the slightly conical steel helmet the troops used. Aylen left with Nanuq and two soldiers as escorts.

"Except for the braziers the building doesn't look as if it's used too often," Tesca remarked, shouldering his assault rifle. "There's dust everywhere, sir. Don't know of any respectable temple or palace in use where that'd be the case."

"Well, who ever is looking after those braziers and feeding them incense is bound to notice us sooner or later. Get the machine guns into position. I want that entry covered."

The large room ended in a two-winged rectangular, metal framed gate easily ten paces high and six or more wide, and it looked sturdy, more intended to keep them_ in_ then keeping others _out_. And there were empty battlements built into the walls above it.

Tesca ordered the section's two machine guns to be set up half-covered by the pillars the closest to the gate. The ASR-11 was a tripod-mounted air-cooled design operated by two men, and they had plenty of ammonution with them this time. The active wormhole still shimmered in a silvery blue in the background.

"Can we get out of those rubber suits?" Tane demanded to know, and Tesca relayed the request by staring intently at two soldiers who were running equipment that tested the air composition for toxins or dangerously high concentrations of bacteria and viruses. It was standard issue for Raeva's specialized 'Full Spectrum Combat' brigades, one of a number of concepts of the 'War of the Future' programme the ministry had boxed through the council for field testing which tried to predict what equipment and soldiers would be needed when the rivalry between the two power blocks would finally come to blows. The equipment they used was actually rather compact, but still too bulky to be fitted inside the chassis of 'Recon2', which was a in fact a prototype of a stillborn Raevan moon probe programme the army had unearthed from some storage facility. One soldier transcribed the read-outs into a chart while the other checked in a field manual what each number meant.

"One moment, sir," one of them responded without looking back at the bee-bee, exchanging the manual with the chart from his comrade who took the handbook instead, cross-checking the readouts a second time before he slowly nodded. "As far as the equipment can tell we are within safe parametres, sir," he informed the Tesca.

"Thank the Father," Antinanco Tesca muttered and sighed. The protection suits were anything but comfortable and had the additional disadvantage of keeping all the heat, sweat and humidity a soldier produced inside, but aside from space programme suits they were the safest environmental garments available. "1st Section, discard NBC suits!" he ordered loud and clear, and soon half of the men switched into their standard uniforms while the other half stood guard. They would still be wearing gloves and the gas masks for some time and keep their high collared uniform tunics closed to limit exposure of the skin, but the gear spotted in shades of brown and green and dry grass was what the men were used to.

Tane was just as relieved to slip out of his as were his men. Being trained to use something did not mean you had to like it. He called for a radio and Petera, who had been promoted to Man-at-Arms handed him a receiver shaped just like one for commercial telephones.

"They have us loud and clear back home, sir," he informed Patar Tane and hesitated before adding with a smile: "If I had known that getting a promotion entailed more work I'd have politely declined it."

The commander smiled back at him and chuckled.

"We all have our burdens to bear, Petera. For me it's bringing you guys home alive, for you its just a little bit more... literal." Petera carried one of the section's four radios on his back. It was a rectangular, dark green apparatus crowned by two stubby, black rubber-coated antennas. The whole thing had an endurance or nearly a week and returned that favour be weighing almost twenty-five pounds.

"Gate Command, this is Tane, Section One. We have established a perimeter, no contact with the natives yet. Disengage the connection, we will send back Recon-2. Section One will report back to you in twenty-four hours from," he checked his watch and relayed the time," now on. Tane out." The wormhole vanished as if it had never existed, and bereft of the effects of the alien device the building they found themselves in looked all the more like a strongly build temple, with the giant wooden statue of that woman with the strange hair overlooking them. It felt _different_. It felt… not at home.


End file.
